


There's Something Wrong With Mary

by SaySoul



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Humor, Curtain Fic, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 16:47:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 31,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15999323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaySoul/pseuds/SaySoul
Summary: There is dead silence for about twenty seconds in which Sam's stomach drops to his feet and he and Dean look at each other in silent stupefaction. Then Sam breaks. "What?""What the hell is this, mom?" Dean demands, voice rasping and desperate.Mary smiles down at the baby, her eyes gentling. "This is Sara."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a new story, really hoping someone enjoys it. Please comment if you see any typos :P

Chapter I

It takes almost a year after Mary leaves for Dean to stop lighting up with hope every time a call or a wayward text is carelessly flung in their direction. It takes another six months for Dean to stop suggesting they go and track her down - something Sam has tried to discourage as much as possible.

Fact is he has _tried_ to track down Mary numerous times. His hacking skills are limited but he can normally trace Dean's cell quite easily. Mary's new cell seems to be untraceable. He has also kept up with their - admittedly much more limited - hunting contacts in the hopes they might cross paths with her, but that seems to have drawn a blank so far. Mary is frustratingly vague in details when she calls - a lesson possibly learnt from the last time she mentioned the whereabouts of a hunt and Dean drove four hundred miles to catch her.

Sam doesn't know why Mary is so determined to keep her distance, but he does know that it is tearing Dean apart. To be rejected by the mother he spent his entire life fighting in the memory of is unbelievably harsh.

Sam only talks to Mary when Dean physically hands him the phone and even then it's only to smooth the frown from Dean's face. Sam doesn't miss his mother. He would have to have had the slightest memory of her _being_ a mother for that. No - he grew up with stories of her perfection. Then he learned of the part she played in destroying their family. He didn't hate her for that - for giving the green light to turn him into a monster. But when Amara brought her back? She brought more pain into Dean's eyes than Purgatory. Than _Hell_. Than them combined and on top of the Mark of Cain. _That_ made Sam hate her. Dean doesn't deserve this Mary. A mother who doesn't even want him.

So Sam does his best to help Dean move on. He finds hunts in Florida just to get Dean a little time on a beach. He purposely takes them on circuitous routes, directing Dean until they are within a ten mile radius of this or that diner and Dean has an excuse to go and eat the pancakes he has spent the past five years gushing about, or the pie from that one place that he still dreams about, drool seeping happily into his pillow in memory of the raspberry filling. He grudgingly accompanies Dean to strip clubs and seedy bars where he pretends to hit on girls just to make Dean beam with pride. Sam never goes home with any of them. He hasn't since - god - that chick in Nebraska? Mercedez, or something. She had the sweetest smile Sam had seen since Jess. Loving her was like coming home. But she was an exception. Sam has always found it tough to get that physical with a girl he doesn't already like and know, finding more comfort in the connection than the act itself. But he pretends for Dean. Because he knows his brother worries - still feels bad about Amelia.

Dean seems happy to trail after Sam's hints and hits on the supernatural. He doesn't complain about where they go or how far for the slightest out of the ordinary article. But still the weekly, then monthly, updates come in from their mother and Dean crumbles again. These days Sam can tell when Dean gets a text by how drunk he gets, sloppily holding a bottle of whiskey with a droopy smile to greet Sam when he comes in the door. Sam hoses his brother down without comment and helps him into bed, removing his shoes and tucking him in more securely then he bets Mary ever did.

It is six hundred and twenty-seven days after Mary leaves when they see her again. She texts Dean coordinates of all things. They assume she is sending them on a hunt she hasn't time to see to - just like their dad did so many years ago. But when they get to Solo, Missouri, armed and ready to go, they find her, instead. Or rather she finds them.

They had just checked in after a long, tedious drive from the bunker during which Sam had searched and scoured the local news pages trying to find anything in the least bit out of the ordinary in Solo. He had drawn a blank so far and they were preparing for a long night of research (or in Dean's case a half an hour of peering over Sam's shoulder until Sam gets annoyed enough with him that he kicks him out - the fact that this is the reaction Dean is angling for in the first place always makes Sam do his very best not to rise to the bait so that he can make his brother do some actual work instead of letting him make a beeline for the nearest bar and the hottest single girl in that bar - but unfortunately Dean has had thirty-five years to get irritating Sam down to a science) when she knocks on their motel room door, easy as you please and nods at them.

"Sam. Dean." She looks battle worn, tired - but startlingly strong and alive at the same time. Hunting suits her as it always has. Sam often wonders if she and John would have had a happier marriage on the road, doing what they both did best. Maybe - if things had turned out differently - they'd still be hunting together today. Older, childless, but together and happy.

Dean sweeps her up into his arms and holds her there, burying his face in her faded shirt. Sam comes closer when he's done and holds a hand out, instead. He can feel the look of incredulity and disappointment Dean is giving him as he does. But Sam won't hug her. He refuses to.

At any rate Mary doesn't seem to mind. She looks at both of them, up and down and nods again, apparently pleased to find them well. "It's good to see you," she says and Sam wants to scoff. He doesn't believe her, even as he knows that she is glad to see they're both alive at least.

"So what's going on?" Dean asks, clapping his hands together enthusiastically. "You need help on a hunt?"

Mary shakes her head. "That's not why I called you here." She looks anxious, all of a sudden. "Why don't you sit down?"

Dean exchanges a squint-eyed look with Sam. He doesn't sit. "What's going on, mom?"

Mary starts to pace, small circles in front of the doorway. Sam watches with growing irritation as she starts to speak and stops and loses her words. She stops pacing abruptly and sits gingerly on the end of Dean's bed.

"I haven't been - a good mother. To either of you. Not since-" she pauses. "Since I've been back." Dean starts to protest but she waves him off. "Please just listen. I don't think I have it in me to be a mother anymore. Not without John. And after everything."

"You don't have to mother us," Dean breaks in. "We just want to see you-"

Mary shakes her head. "This isn't about you. It's about my daughter."

There is dead silence for about twenty seconds in which Sam's stomach drops to his feet and he and Dean look at each other in silent stupefaction. Then Sam breaks. "What?"

Mary smiles at him. "Come with me." She rises and leaves the room. Sam looks at Dean again, bewildered, but Dean's face has closed off, harsh and unforgiving. He follows Mary without another word, Sam trailing after them both like a lost puppy. Mary leads them down the hall to a room five doors down which she unlocks and then beckons them inside.

Sam doesn't know what he was expecting, but this isn't it. Inside a cheap, motel cot in the middle of the room is a baby. A tiny, chocolate baby wrapped in a fuzzy pink blanket. Sam stares. He stares and stares at her tiny little nose, the dainty fan of eyelashes resting against her cheeks, the rise and fall of her small chest.

Dean reaches an enormous hand down to brush against her head. He retracts it just as quickly and looks back at Mary, his face so openly betrayed that Sam has to look away.

"What the hell is this, mom?" Dean demands, voice rasping and desperate.

Mary smiles down at the baby, her eyes gentling. "This is Sara. She was born two weeks ago - on the fourteenth."

Sam gapes at her. "What? You had a baby?" Sam doesn't really believe it. He thinks backwards. Has she actually had time to grow a human since the last time they saw her? Apparently yes, she has. After a quick calculation he realises she had time to have two babies in the time they've spent apart and that really makes it hit home for Sam just how long she's been gone. He doesn't even know why she's here now, presenting her shiny new daughter to her over-aged and over-grown firstborns who Sam isn't sure she even considers hers anymore.

Mary nods slowly. She is looking at Dean, watching his frown carefully.

Sam inches closer to Dean and peers over his shoulder at the baby again. _Sara_. He has a _sister_.

Mary's hands reach into the crib and delicately rearrange the blanket around Sara. “Isn't she perfect?”

Pain pierces Sam's heart as he takes in the tenderness in Mary's eyes. He wants to pull Dean away, pull him away before he catches that look - before he realises that Mary is looking at her daughter in a way she will never truly be able to look at him. He wants to leave, take Dean by the sleeve and just leave, letting Mary and her precious new daughter shrink out of sight in the Impala's rearview.

Dean's jaw works as he thinks. Eventually he raises his head and looks back up at Mary. "So are you coming home now? Are we going to be a family again?"

"No."

It's happening again - it's happening all over again and Sam can't believe it. This is Adam, repeated - another parent choosing another child over them - one more special, one worth loving and living the normal life with. He doesn't know how Mary can do this to _him_ \- to her _son_ \- because Sam would rather rip his own heart out than risk putting that expression on Dean's face.

Dean looks absolutely crushed for a moment before he gets himself under control. His mouth thins. He nods jerkily. "Okay. Are you at least going to tell us where you're going to raise her?"

"That's the thing," Mary says, rubbing her fingers over the edge of the little pink blanket. She keeps her gaze away from theirs while she speaks. "I'm giving her up for adoption. I don't want to raise another child."

Sam can practically feel Dean process that. His whole body goes rigid with shock and he looks like the breath has just been knocked from his lungs. Sam's jaw sets and he rounds on his mother. He has had _enough_. “ _What_?” he spits. “ _What did you just say_?”

Mary flinches but meets his gaze steadily. “I'm sorry, Sam, but I can't keep her.” She pauses. “I won't keep her.”

“You can't just give her away,” Dean whispers. He closes his eyes tight like he's trying to think - or trying to block the world out. “You can't do that. You _can't_ do that.” His teeth are gritted, grinding out the words before he takes a deep breath and opens his eyes again, fixing his gaze on his sleeping sister. “She's family,” he murmurs.

Mary smiles a small, sad smile and shakes her head slowly and resolutely.

Sam swallows. He looks over at the little sleeping girl and feels an enormous surge of protectiveness. He can't let her get swallowed up by social services. Not like he was at five, seven and fourteen - each stint longer than the last until John figured a way of getting him back again. They aren't fond memories by any stretch of the imagination. And who knows what kind of people could end up adopting her? They could be anything - vampires, demons, or just the regular kind of monsters: bad humans.

“No,” Dean says, voice still rough but louder this time.

Something flashes across Mary's eyes. Something that looks a lot like . . . satisfaction? She shrugs with manufactured ease. "I won't raise her."

"What is wrong with you?" Sam blurts out. "She's your daughter! You can't just shove her at the nearest couple who want her."

Dean speaks over his little outburst, apparently done thinking. " _Fine_. You don't want her? We'll take her. She's family. That means she sticks with us."

Sam gapes at him - it was more or less along the lines of what he was thinking, but he hadn't really expected Dean to just come right out and say it. It isn't really a decision to be made on whimsy. Though it isn't whimsy at all really, Sam thinks. Dean has put family first his entire life. He already raised one sibling for his deadbeat parents. What's one more?

There is a definite gleam in Mary's eyes now. "Okay." And in the silence that follows Sam abruptly catches on to the fact that she _planned_ this. She knew Dean would take Sara before she called them here.

Sam's chest burns with anger. The manipulation is worse than John's barked orders and with a sudden burst of feeling Sam realises that he doesn't want Mary to raise Sara if that's how she goes about things. It's hideously unfair.

Dean has apparently come to the same realisation. He is staring at Mary with horror.

But she doesn't give them time to react or rage or whatever Sam thinks he may have done, given half a chance. She picks up a gym bag and puts it on the bed next to him. "This is all her things. You'll need to buy formula and a bottle, but everything else is here." She bends over the crib and lays a gentle kiss on the top of Sara's dark head. "I know you'll be good to her."

They watch her pick up a different bag and sling it heavily over one shoulder. She gives each of her children a watery smile and singular nod and moves for the door.

"Wait," Dean's voice catches and he won't look at Mary as he speaks but he carries on anyway - "her father?"

For a moment something dark clouds Mary's eyes as she looks back at him. Then it disappears and she answers stiffly, "He has a wife and children already. I didn't tell him." Then she leaves, swaying out of the motel room door without so much as a 'thanks'.

Dean looks at Sam for the first time then, and searches his expression. "Sam?"

Sam isn't sure what he's asking, exactly, but whatever it is, he's not going to make Dean carry this alone. He'd never leave Dean to carry something this huge alone. "Yeah."

Dean doesn't look away for a long moment - something like grief or desperation in his eyes. Sam reaches out and clamps a hand down on Dean's shoulder and Dean leans into it, eyes squeezing shut. Sam doesn't know what to do. In some way he supposes he should be grateful to Mary for doing something so big Dean can't just look past it - explain it away, shove it to the back of his mind - but as much as he wanted Dean to stop looking for his mother in a woman who is more like a stranger, he never actually wanted Dean to have to go through the realisation that she would never ever be what he hoped.

Dean brings a hand up to squeeze Sam's wrist and Sam realises he's been lost in thought long enough for Dean to notice. He flashes his brother a half-hearted grin and nods towards Sara. “Guess we've got ourselves a baby, huh?”

Dean gives him an alarmed look as if he has just realised the magnitude of what he has accepted and Sam decides that giving him time to think about it might do more harm than good right now.

He disentangles himself from Dean and gives him a gentle shove towards the crib. “Go get her, tiger.” When Dean gives him a narrowed glare he adds graciously, “I'll get her bag.” And so saying he grabs the gym bag. Baby bag. God. They have a _baby_ in their care.

Dean moves gingerly to the crib, scoops the little human carefully into his arms and then looks around. Sam picks up a car seat from the floor and hands it to him. Dean looks relieved and straps her in it easily.

Dean takes Sara straight outside to where the Impala is parked, waiting for them. Sam goes by their room and retrieves his and Dean's overnight bags, as yet unopened, adding them to the weight on his shoulder before locking up and flinging the keys carelessly on the check-in desk as goes past.

The bleary-eyed attendant glances up from his book and gives him a surprised look. “Change of plans,” Sam tells him with an apologetic smile.

The attendant shrugs and goes back to his book, apparently satisfied that Sam isn't going to ask for his money back. Sam won't ask for his money back because he never actually paid for the room in the first place. He has long since gotten over his issues with credit card fraud - mostly because he has more important things to worry about these days. Like babysitting, for example.

Dean is in the driver's seat when he gets to the Impala. He looks restless and agitated. Sam slings their bags in the back next to Sara and then joins his brother in the front.

They look at each other for a minute, Dean frowning deeply, Sam trying to guess what he's thinking. Then, after a pause, Dean leans forward and starts the engine.

It is six hundred and nineteen miles to Sioux Falls, and that's where Dean heads. Sam sits with his head twisted round to watch Sara sleep, willing her to stay that way. She doesn't know her mother's gone and he dreads the moment she finds out.

Dean is tense, gripping the wheel in a way Sam knows Dean would give him shit for if it was him. He doesn't question Dean's decision to go to Jody. To the woman who is practically their surrogate mother. It's the sort of knee-jerk reaction Sam actually appreciates in his brother. He has never been above getting help if he is out of his depth for all his macho posturing.

He watches Dean drive for a while, considering the damage this latest visit with their mother has caused. He should probably be worrying about something else namely something small and sleeping in the backseat in a way eerily reminiscent of Sam's primitive years with John and Dean. But worrying about Dean comes more naturally than breathing and right now it's an oddly comforting thing to fall back to.

Sara wakes up though, half an hour in - with nine hours left on the road. She starts to cry almost instantly - her tiny voice alarmingly strong in the confines of the car. Dean curses and pulls off the highway to find someplace to stop.

He climbs out, opens the back door and leans in over Sara, humming in a faux jovial sort of way. "Hey there. How you doing back here?"

Sara doesn't seem to notice him. Dean gently unclips her from the car seat and lifts her out of it.

"What's wrong with her?" Sam asks, craning his neck to see.

"Maybe she wants her mother," Dean snaps. Then he sighs and sends Sam an apologetic grimace. "I'm gonna check her diaper, but I'm guessing she's probably hungry."

Dean unwraps the baby with a series of complicated motions and peeks at the diaper. Then he sighs and unpacks the baby bag. Sam turns around and lets him change the diaper in peace, checking his phone for local supermarkets. "There's a store still open about five miles down the road." He peeks outside at the gathering gloom. "We should be able to get formula there - but I think we're going to have to stop after that. We need a kitchen, right?"

Dean grunts and buckles in the still crying baby. "You drive," he says suddenly. "I'm gonna stay back here with her."

Sam turns to give him an incredulous look, but Dean is busy waggling his fingers in Sara's face, trying to distract her. So Sam drives them to the brightly lit store in the middle of nowhere and makes a run inside while Dean stays with Sara in the car. At least that was how it was supposed to go. In actuality Dean runs in with a screaming infant while Sam is perusing the baby aisle, apparently panicking that Sam will buy the wrong thing.

Sam gives up and takes Sara while Dean shops. Sara. His sister. He's holding her for the first time, her tiny brown fist clutching his shirt. His heart melts a little. She's the most gorgeous creature he's ever seen. Her screams have turned into whimpers and she is gazing up at him with - with _Dean's_ eyes.

Sam holds her to his chest and follows Dean down various aisles, watching him read the fine print on practically everything he picks up. He doesn't know that he's ever seen Dean be so thorough. After a good while has passed and Sam has received multiple glares from the few staff on duty as Sara starts up again in earnest they retreat back to the car, Dean lugging several bags containing about half the store along with them. "Motel?" he asks, strapping Sara in.

"Nope," Dean grins, holding open a carrier bag. "Sterilised bottles and ready-made formula. We're good to go."

Sam frowns. "Don't you need to heat that up still?"

Dean shrugs. "Never did with you. You had it room temperature and seemed to like it just fine."

Sam blinks. "Um. I'm not sure . . . if mom was er-" he coughs awkwardly, "you know - then Sara is used to warm . . . milk. And she already has to get used to the formula - don't you think you're expecting a little much?"

Dean scoffs. "Just drive, Sammy. I'll feed her and we'll be in Sioux Falls by morning."

Sam is doubtful, but he slides into the driver's seat anyway and pulls away.

Sara does not seem impressed with the formula that Dean presents her in a brand new baby bottle. She doesn't seem to like the bottle much either, for that matter.

Sam watches what he can through the rearview and it is as entertaining as he had hoped. Sara's screaming shows no sign of breaking. She turns her little baby head every time Dean tries to shove the bottle in her face and cries louder.

The screaming begins to get in Sam's head. "Will you stop?" he pleads. "You're just making her worse."

"She needs to eat," Dean replies stubbornly, showing Sara the bottle again.

Sam glowers at the road, trying to let the noise wash over him. An hour and a half on the road, eight hours left. Surely Sara will wear herself out soon. Aren't babies supposed to sleep every couple of hours at that age?

Dean puts the bottle away eventually and puts his jacket over his head, groaning softly. Sam is almost a hundred percent sure that he doesn't have auditory blocking symbols stitched on the inside, and that the action is purely for show.

Sara does sleep after that. For exactly forty five minutes and then she's off again. Sam switches with Dean four hours in and has his first horrifying experience of changing a diaper.

"Wait 'til she's on solids," Dean says smugly. "It gets so much worse."

Sam's ears are trying to shut down from the near constant crying. He is about to snap at Dean and insist they stop at a motel so that they can at least _warm_ the milk when Sara finally gives in and latches onto the teat.

The relief of silence that descends on the car is so sudden that Sam hardly dares to breathe. He catches Dean's eye in the mirror and they grin at each other in much the same way they do after a successful kill - with that feeling of satisfaction of a job well done.

Sara's eyes are closed as she sucks gently on and Sam has a feeling she will fall asleep again soon.

It's actually Sam who falls asleep, though he imagines Sara must have too, and when he wakes up the sky is red with dawn.

He glances across and sees that Sara is awake, but for once not crying. She blinks at him and blows a bubble of spit.

They pull up outside Jody's house not long after that and Sam collects Sara and her numerous supplies while Dean raps gently on the door.

Jody opens the door in her dressing gown after about five minutes and blinks sleepily at Sam, Dean and the baby. "Huh," she says eventually. "Come in?"

Sam follows her inside and discreetly asks if she has a bed Dean can use for a few hours. Jody takes charge to Sam's relief and ushers Dean into Claire's room almost instantly.

"What about you?" she asks, bustling into the kitchen and putting on some coffee. She gives the car seat in his arms a meaningful look. "I don't know whose baby that is but if you need me to watch her for a few hours while you catch some shuteye, I will."

Sam smiles awkwardly. He's not sure he really wants to get into the whole 'who's the baby' thing right now. "Nah. I'm all right. So Claire's not here?"

Jody purses her lips. "Hunting. She might be back within a week if we're lucky." She pours out two mugs of coffee and holds one out to Sam. Then she hesitates. "You gonna put that down?"

Sam puts Sara down carefully on the floor and takes the coffee with grateful hands. 

"So are you going to fill me in, or are we going to pretend you haven't kidnapped a baby?"

Sam sighs. "We didn't kidnap her. This is Sara. Dean and I's brand new sister."

Jody's eyebrows go up. "You mean-?"

Sam nods. "Mary had a baby."

Jody whistles. "Wow. That's big news. So what is she doing with you two? I mean, no offense, but that is a newborn and you two don't exactly seem the baby type."

Sam takes a swig of coffee and burns his mouth.

Jody's gaze sharpens. "Something happen to Mary?"

Sam shakes his head reluctantly. "No. She's still . . . hunting." He gives up and decides to cut to the chase. "She doesn't want her."

Jody's mouth drops open. "Of all the - so she just dumped a baby on you? Just like that?"

"Pretty much," Sam agrees miserably.

"When?"

"Almost ten hours ago."

Jody's face softens when she realises they came straight to her. "Oh dear. Well, why don't you let me watch her for you? You can sleep, talk to your brother, whatever you need to do."

Sam smiles at her gratefully. "That would be great. Thank you." He needs to talk to Dean. There are about a thousand things they need to discuss all of a sudden - things Sam and probably Dean hadn't even considered in those few, confusing minutes before Mary walked out the door.

Jody scoops little Sara into her arms and coos a greeting at her, which prompts Sam to get the hell out of dodge before she starts reverting to gibberish.

Sam isn't sure he can sleep, so he waves off Jody's offer to take her bed and slips into Claire's room where Dean is snoring softly. He sets up camp on Claire's desk with his laptop and starts making a lengthy list of topics to talk over when Dean returns to the land of the living. Sara starts screaming before Dean wakes up, though, so he slips out again to see her. Jody is dressed now and expertly changing Sara's diaper on the living room floor.

"So it's _your_ baby," a teenage girl says snottily from behind him.

"Alex," Sam grins. He extends an offer of a hug which she accepts grudgingly.

"Sam. You didn't tell us you got knocked up." Alex zips up her hoodie and heads for the kitchen.

"No, I didn't. You got school today?" Sam asks, following her in.

"I finished like last year, dude. God."

"Oh," Sam says awkwardly. "Congratulations? So what are you doing now? College?"

Alex rolls her eyes. "Something like that."

"Okay . . ." Sam shrugs and goes back to the living room.

Jody smiles at him. "I took the day off. Don't worry about anything today - but you'll have to take her tomorrow."

Sam smiles. "We're really grateful, Jody. You don't have to do this."

"Aw, what's the point in having a mom friend if they won't help you during a baby crisis?"

"Damn right," Dean says. Sam spins around to see him leaning tiredly against the doorway. He gives Sam a rueful smile. "Do I smell coffee?"

"Gotcha," Alex says, holding a steaming mug out from the kitchen.

"Goddess," Dean mumbles, snatching it from her grasp.

Jody stands up with a fully dressed Sara in her arms and goes to bestow a warm - if slightly awkward with coffee and a baby between them - hug on Dean. "You've got a gorgeous little sister here. I hope you're proud."

"We are," Dean murmurs, smiling at Sam over Jody's shoulder.

"I'm going," Alex says, walking past. "See you losers later if you're still here."

"Well," Jody says, "I'll let you two talk for a bit. Shall I warm the formula before I give it to her?"

Sam sighs. "No. Dean wants her to get used to it cold."

Dean smirks at him.

Jody picks up Sara's bag and retreats out of the room.

Sam looks at Dean. "So."

Dean levers himself from the doorway and sinks onto the sofa. He settles in, putting socked feet on the coffee table and leaning back against the cushions. "All right, have at it."

Sam sits down next to him. "Um. Have you thought about this at all, then? What we're going to do with a newborn baby?"

Dean looks uncomfortable. "Jody likes kids, right?"

Sam stares at him. "You're expecting her to raise our sister? Jesus, Dean, she has a life!"

Dean gets defensive. "She took in Alex and Claire without much notice, didn't she?"

"Well, sure," Sam accepts, floundering. "But there's a big difference between fostering a couple of teenagers and agreeing to raise an infant!"

Dean scowls. "We don't know until we ask her, do we?"

Sam closes his mouth. "Do you have a plan B?" he asks eventually. "If Jody doesn't want to raise a baby for us?"

"No," Dean snaps. "No, I don't have a plan B. I haven't thought this through, Sam, because yesterday I didn't even know I had a sister!"

Jody clears her throat from the other doorway. Sam and Dean both shut up and turn to look at her, chagrined.

Jody gives them an odd look. She shakes her head. "Sam - sorry to disturb you two, but I just got a text from Claire. She's about an hour out, got caught up in some haunting. I was wondering if you wouldn't mind heading over there. Just - since you're here."

Sam blinks. "Oh. Absolutely. Sure." A hunt sounds good, actually. Really good. He could do with some normal.

"Oh hell no," Dean says "Who says you get to go and burn shit?"

Sam narrows his eyes. "You should sleep some more. Besides, don't you want to be here for Sara?"

Dean scowls at him.

"Oh, for god's sake," Jody mutters. "Both of you go. I've got Sara just fine."

Dean purses his lips. "Yeah?"

"Absolutely. Be safe, both of you." Jody swings around and disappears when a thin wail starts up from the back of the house.

They're out the door in under five.

Arlington, South Dakota, is a small town north of Sioux Falls. Sam calls Claire four times en route before she picks up.

"Sam! I'm a little busy, can we talk later?"

"Actually, we were visiting Jody when she told us where you were. Thought we might help out if you'll have us?"

There is a pause. "Uh . . . sure. I'll be at this seedy little joint called Wale's. Meet me?"

Sam expected her to put up more of a fight. He hopes that's not a bad sign. Claire is as independent as Jo was and just as determined to prove herself. "Okay. We're fifteen minutes out."

"Gotcha," Claire says and hangs up.

Dean raises his eyebrows. "She said yes?"

"Yeah . . ." Sam frowns. "Do you think something's wrong?"

Dean shrugs. "Who knows with that kid."

The bar, Wale's, is a little out of the way on the outskirts of town and it doesn't cut a pretty picture. A neon sign depicts a beer bottle standing out of a rigid outline of a bra. Sam wrinkles his nose as they pull up. The thought of Claire at a place like this isn't particularly comforting.

The inside is dingy with few customers - a couple of people at tables at the back and one or two drinking at the bar. Claire doesn't appear to have arrived yet.

Dean glances at Sam and then nods to a table in the corner. "Sit down, I'll get us a couple of beers."

Sam sits down, back to the wall, and analyses the other customers. Locals, he'd wager, all of them, judging by their interested gazes. He nods at a couple of men nearest his table, trying to keep the atmosphere amiable.

Dean comes back with two beers in one hand and a basket of peanuts in the other. Sam raises an eyebrow at him and accepts a beer.

"What?" Dean says defensively. "We didn't get breakfast this morning. Excuse me for not being able to survive on the occasional salad leaf like you."

Sam rolls his eyes and takes a swig. Then he concentrates on not being hungry, because although he hadn't thought about it before now, he has suddenly realised how empty his stomach is. He eyes the peanuts and Dean smirks at him.

"Go ahead. Know you wanta."

Sam makes a face at him and looks back out across the bar. "Did you get anything from the bartender?"

Dean stuffs himself with a handful of peanuts and smiles a salty grin at him. "You mean aside from these delicious peanuts?" Sam just gives him a look. "Buzzkill," Dean mutters. "Yeah, he's about as tight-lipped as a shrink. Definitely knows something, though. Looked real attentive when I mentioned cold spots and the freaky shit. Think the haunting's here?"

Sam shrugs. "I haven't actually been able to find anything online. Wouldn't even know there was a hunt, actually. Not sure what Claire's lead is."

Claire chooses that moment to stomp in, all black leather and heavy boots, looking purposeful. She spots them in the corner and nods, but turns immediately to the bartender and draws him into a short but heated discussion. Eventually he steps back and produces a small school bell from under the bar which he swings vociferously.

“Closing up!” He yells. “Tip ‘em back and clear out now!” The locals groan and clamber to their feet, looking thoroughly put out, but no one argues.

Sam and Dean stand up and weave their way over to the bar where Claire and the bartender are still standing. The bartender eyes them dubiously, but doesn't tell them to leave.

Claire grins at them, pleased, but slightly feral looking. She gives them one-armed hugs and then gestures at the bartender. "This is Jared. He's got a little ghost problem, asked me to take care of it."

Sam blinks. "Uh . . . you asked her to come here?" he asks the bartender - Jared.

Jared gives a fast nod and starts collecting up glasses. "Claire was recommended to me by a friend."

Dean looks at Claire, impressed. "Getting a reputation there, kid. Good on you."

Sam looks back at Jared. "So what's the story?"

Jared shifts on his feet, uncomfortably. "Lights started flickering a couple o' months back. Cold spots, just like he said," he says, gesturing at Dean. "Didn't think it was nothing at first, just the wiring, you know? Then stuff started getting moved."

Sam frowns. "Moved, like a poltergeist?"

Jared shrugs. "Nothing much, really. Wouldn't 'a' noticed if it didn't happen right in front of me one time. This glass started sliding back and forth across the top of the bar, like someone was pushing it between their hands - but there wasn't no one there to push it!" Jared rakes a hand through his hair. Then he shrugs again. "Mentioned it to a friend 'cos I thought I was going crazy, and that's when he told me about her." He jerks his head at Claire. "Said she could help."

"That's it?" Dean asks dubiously. "No deaths? No accidents?"

Jared sighs. "Nah, man. Don't think he means any harm. But I've had to close up shop a few times now because of things going haywire - or refusing to work at all. Last week the air con’ went out for a few days - couldn't no one work out what the hell was wrong with the thing. Ghost is bad for business," he says grimly.

Sam purses his lips and glances at Claire. "So do you have any leads on who it is?"

"Yep," Claire says, smacking her lips satisfactorily. "Wes Bell. Owned the bar before Jared, died here from a heart attack just over a year ago. No other deaths around here."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Dean asks, clapping his hands together. "Let's salt 'n' burn!"

"He was cremated," Claire says bluntly. "All hauntings, as far as we can tell, happened right here in the bar, which means-"

"He's tied to something here," Sam nods. "Any idea what that could be?"

Claire grins. "Jared never bothered clearing out his apartment upstairs. Could be anything."

Dean groans. This is so not his idea of a good hunt. Jared leads the three of them upstairs and Sam winces when he opens the apartment door. Wes Bell _would_ be a hoarder.

"The hell?" Dean exclaims. "We'll never find anything in here!"

"You wanted to help," Claire says innocently.

Dean gapes and jabs a finger at her. "That's why you said yes! I knew there was something off about that!"

Claire shrugs.

Dean groans again. "Man, this is gonna take a year to go through." He perks up a moment later. "Why don't we just burn it all?"

"Exactly what I was thinking," Claire beams. "Jared asked me specially not to burn down his bar, though. So that's why you're here. You two big, strong, protectors of the innocent are going to help me carry everything up here down to the yard so we can burn it. Capiche?"

Sam looks at Dean. He can't help smiling a little. "She's good, you gotta give her that."

Dean is pouting. "The damn ghost isn't even hurting anyone. Worst hunt ever," he mutters as Claire shoves a box in his hands.

So much for a little piece of normal. Sam barely even feels like he's on a hunt. It's far more reminiscent of how he spent his early twenties, helping college friends move in and out of their dorms and apartments.

By his twenty-sixth ascension of the stairs he is getting seriously bored. By the fortieth his arms are aching. He's a little unhappy about that, actually. Clearly he's been a little too lax with working out lately.

Dean has started just throwing the smaller items out the window. "What? They're going to be ash later anyway." But he seems ready enough to forgive Claire for her subterfuge when she lets him strike the match and set the yard on fire.

They leave Jared to watch the fire with an extinguisher in his arms. Sam notices him press a wad of bills into Claire's hand as they say goodbye.

"Did you make him pay you?" he asks her in disbelief as they go back to the car.

Claire grins. "He offered. Besides, it was basically manual labour. He could have done it himself just as well."

Dean smirks. "Nice. Why don't we ever make 'em pay?" he directs at Sam.

"They do pay us," Sam retorts, checking his phone for directions to a diner. "It's just that they pay us in food when you're checking out their houses. And they don't actually realise they're paying us in food."

Dean ponders this. "I suppose that's fair," he allows. Sam has lost count of the beers and snacks Dean has stolen from an unsuspecting victim's house. But it isn't as though he takes anything of actual value, and they are, more often than not, saving said person's life. So Sam tends to let it slide.

They drive to a diner at the centre of Arlington and both Claire and Dean order enormous cooked breakfasts with bacon and eggs and sausages despite the fact that it is now afternoon. Sam orders a salad slightly grudgingly because Dean is giving him a look like he's just waiting for Sam to fold and order something more substantial so he can yell, "Ha! I knew rabbit food wasn't good enough! Bow down to the bacon, bitch!" or something equally idiotic.

Claire and Dean pass the time discussing their latest hunts and then Sam asks how she's getting on with Jody these days and if the hunting thing isn't quite such an abrasive topic between them now. Claire gives half little non-answers and turns the conversation onto this little book she picked up in a second hand shop detailing the importance of silver and various ways to use it to your advantage. From there it goes on to Sam and Claire talking about the little tell-tale signs in books and lore that it, or at least part of it is genuine. It takes two hours and two servings of pie (Dean) before Claire asks them why they're visiting.

"I assumed you had a hunt nearby," she realises, "but you," she indicates Dean, "said your last hunt was in Texas. It's not exactly nearby."

The silence that descends is awkward and tangible.

Claire blinks at them. "What?"

"Uh," says Sam. "We have a new sister."

"Whoa," says Claire. "Really? Mary had a baby?"

"Brand new baby," Dean says. "She's with Jody now."

Claire frowns. "Mary's visiting Jody? I thought you guys like never saw her."

Dean flinches. Then he stands up. "I'm gonna hit the head. Sam?"

Sam nods. "Yeah," he says, and calls the waiter to pay up.

Claire follows Sam outside to the car and they lean against it while they wait for Dean.

"So?" she asks.

Sam sighs. "Mary's out of the picture. For now. But her daughter - Sara - our sister - isn't." He shrugs. "We've got some things to figure out."

Claire grimaces. "Wow, that sucks." She punches him in the shoulder lightly. "Parents suck, dude."

"Yeah."

Dean pushes his way through the diner doors and strolls over to meet them. He plucks Baby's keys out of his pocket. "You coming back with us?" he asks Claire.

Claire grins and shakes her head. "Nah. I'll meet you there."

Dean's eyebrows raise. "You got a car now?"

"Nope." Claire slides in the backseat of the Impala. "Drop me back at Wale's?"

Claire jumps out when Dean pulls up outside the bar and stands next to Sam's open window. She points to the far end of the parking lot.

"The bike?" Sam asks, surprised, and yet somehow not surprised in the slightest.

Dean whistles, craning his neck to look. "Is that a Harley? Nice!"

He makes to unbuckle his seatbelt and get out to take a closer look. Sam places a restraining hand on his arm. "You can look to your heart's content at Jody's. But I think we should get back, don't you?"

Dean sags back in his seat, looking disappointed. "Right. You're right. See you in a bit," he calls to Claire.

Claire waves and marches off to her bike and Dean pulls Baby gently back onto the road.

The silence in the car is comfortable until Sam opens his mouth. He regrets it almost as soon as he says, "Have you thought any more about it?"

Dean's whole body stiffens and he glares at Sam. "Why d'you keep asking, Sammy? You think I shouldn't have taken her in the first place, is that it? Think I should've let her be swallowed up by some kind of social services?"

"N-no," Sam stutters, surprised. "I just - this is serious, Dean. It's her life and we're just driving around," he waves his hands exasperatedly, " _moving boxes_! Can't we talk about it at all?" There is a pause and Sam says, almost petulantly, "She's my sister too."

Dean lets out a breath, eyes fixed on the road. "I know." He side-eyes Sam and then sighs. "Fine. You're right. She's a two-week baby and Jody would be crazy to take that on at a moment's notice."

Sam chews his lip. "She might," he offers.

"She might." Dean taps his fingers against the steering wheel in a pattern Sam vaguely recognises. "We can't let her be raised by strangers."

"No," Sam agrees. That is somehow so not an option it's not even worth considering. "Mom might change her mind?"

Dean snorts. "Right."

"I don't think we know anyone else who'd be willing to raise her. If Bobby were still-" Sam stops.

"Yeah." Dean shifts. "There's no one I'd trust to raise her, even if they would take her. Other than Jody." He pauses. "Maybe Cas."

Sam snorts. Then he sobers and frowns. It doesn't feel like any idea should be laughed out of existence right now.

The side of Dean's mouth lifts, though. "Yeah. Maybe not."

"So what does that leave?"

"Us."

Sam blinks at his brother. He had expected Dean to beat around the bush more before bringing that up.

Dean frowns at his silence. "Or me. One of us."

"I thought we were going to hunt 'til we drop," Sam says hesitantly.

Dean gives an uneasy shrug. "It's not like I haven't thought about it before. I mean - I've had a whole helluva lot of one night stands. The baby thing wasn't completely out of the question." Dean makes a face. "I thought Ben was - once. Never thought the kid in question wouldn't have a mother, though."

Sam doesn't say anything for the rest of the journey, mulling Dean's words over in his mind. Dean flicks on the radio after a while and cranks the volume up too high.

Claire's bike is already in Jody's drive when they get there and Sam wonders when she overtook them.

* * *

Jody makes up the sofa bed for them in the living room that night and supplies a random loose drawer to substitute as a cot for Sara.

Sam wakes up at twelve and listens to Dean moving about, murmuring tiredly to Sara as he feeds her. He wakes again around four when Sara starts crying, but again Dean gets up and tends to her and Sam just lies there, listening.

The next day passes in a gloomy sort of stupor. Sam and Dean wave Alex and Jody off to go and deal with their respective responsible daytime occupations and then sit, slumped on the sofa for most of the day, trading off diapers and bottles at unsystematic intervals.

Claire climbs her way out of bed at some point and glares at them over a mug of coffee. "You are the worst house guests ever," she mumbles and retreats back to her bedroom where she has an actual door to close between her and Sara's incessant screaming.

Because Sara hasn't stopped screaming all day. Sam doesn't know what it is - maybe she has finally caught on to the fact that her mother isn't coming back. Or maybe she is just trying to communicate a particular displeasure with Sam and Dean's capabilities as nurturers.

"We can't ask Jody to raise her while she's like this," Dean moans, covering his head with covers from the bed they never bothered to pack away that morning. "No one in their right mind would take her like this!"

Sam squints at him. "Maybe she wants a walk. We haven't gone outside today. Or a bath."

"You can't put her in a bath! She can't swim!" Dean squawks.

Sam closes his eyes. "Right. I meant a sink. Sink bath, or something."

Dean is silent for a while. Not that Sam notices because Sara is still crying. She's in her drawer all alone and Sam feels like he's abusing her. He nudges Dean with his foot.

"She's crying, Dean."

"I can damn well hear her, you moron," Dean hisses.

" _Dean_. She's _crying_."

Dean rolls off the bed and scoops Sara up. "Fine. Let's walk."

Sam waves a hand in his direction. "You go. I'll catch up." He yawns.

A pillow smacks him in the face. "I swear to god, Sam!"

Sam follows Dean out the door. "Is she warm enough?" He asks, peering at Sara over Dean's shoulder.

"Yes," Dean says shortly.

"She needs a pram, or something. If Jody says 'yes' she shouldn't have to buy everything for her."

Dean grunts. Sara seems to be reluctantly falling asleep in Dean's arms. At least - the pitch of her crying has changed and slowed a little since going outside.

The air is clear and warm - it's a nice spring day. They pass a dog walker with three or four mutts strapped to each wrist. Dean walks carefully around him, holding Sara a little higher in his arms as if he's afraid one of the dogs will leap up and eat her.

Sara abruptly gurgles into silence with a comical look of surprise on her face - or Sam imagines it's surprise. Her baby face hasn't actually developed all that many expressions as of yet.

Dean falters on the sidewalk and looks down at her. Sara vomits on him.

Sam tries, he really does, but the look of surprised outrage on Dean's face is too spectacular. He erupts into laughter. Sam leans against a wall while he tries to catch his breath.

Dean frowns at him. "Stop it. Stop laughing."

Sam smiles and wipes his eyes. This is easily the most alive he's felt all day. He searches his pockets and finds a gun cleaning rag in his jacket. He pats it around Dean's neck and chin, still sniggering.

"Hell no," he laughs when Dean tries to offer him Sara. "You're already gross, keep her."

They turn back to Jody's, Dean muttering under his breath and Sam feeling like he can breathe again - like maybe Sara isn't the end of life as he knows it after all.

Then Dean's pocket starts singing with an incoming call and everything heads downhill from there.

Sam helpfully pickpockets Dean, who doesn't have an arm to spare, and almost answers the call. He almost answers the call until he sees 'Mom' flash up on the screen and then his thumb backpedals so fast he hits 'ignore' instead.

"What?" Dean asks, looking at Sam over his shoulder as they walk. "Who was that?"

Sam swallows and looks down at the cellphone. "No one," he mutters.

"What?" Dean asks, incredulously. "Who was calling?"

"Verizon," Sam lies. "Why? Did you want to talk to them?"

Dean snorts. They let themselves back in the house and Dean unceremoniously dumps Sara back in her drawer while he goes to clean up.

Things would have been fine after that if Dean wasn't a suspicious bastard who goes through his call history - and finds that Sam has deleted his call history.

"Sam," Dean says, narrowed eyed and wafting his phone underneath Sam's nose. "Who called?"

Sam winces. Well, so much for that. "It was mom," he confesses.

Dean stares at him. "Why the hell would you decline the call? It's _mom_!"

"That's why I declined the call!" Sam snaps. "Because it's _mom_ and right now she's the last person I want to talk to!"

"And what about me?!" Dean explodes. "Don't I get a say in whether I talk to our mother or not? Or are you going to take my phone privileges away too?"

Sam winces again. "That's not - I wasn't trying to - I just didn't want to talk to her, okay?!"

"What if she's hurt, Sam? Ever think of that? Maybe she needed our help!"

"Well, why don't you call her and find out?" Sam says snippily.

Dean's jaw works as he stares at Sam, but after a moment he turns away and dials Mary's number.

Sam watches him, feeling defensive and hurt - and okay, maybe a little guilty too, but Dean has no idea what it does to Sam when he watches his brother get cut down time and time again each and every time Mary makes contact.

He watches as Dean swears, pulling his cell from his ear before jamming a button and trying again. Sam watches as the phone goes to voicemail four, five, six times.

Dean taps out a hurried text and then stares at his phone for a few minutes. When nothing comes through he tries calling again.

Sam isn't surprised when Dean eventually turns back to him, worried and so angry he is practically spitting. He is half expecting Dean to just take a swing and cut to the chase.

"Why the hell should we rush across the country for her anyway?" Sam blurts out, feeling reckless and tired and a tiny bit suicidal, apparently. "She's done nothing but take since we got her back!"

Dean's face contorts into indignation. "What did you expect, Sam? She _died_. And when she came back it was to her husband dead, her children gone and to a world she didn't recognize! Then she finds out she's got two grown-up killers for sons who are looking to her for a love she hasn't got! _What did you expect_?"

"I expected her to try!" Sam yells. "She never even tried. Hunting is the only thing she cares about and you know it. It's like with dad all over again. You're so blinded by your hero worship you can't even see her! Only this time it's worse because you had twenty-two years of dad telling you that the memory of your goddamn perfect mother was the only damn thing worth fighting for!"

The punch that snaps his head back is expected and welcome. Sam gives in to the adrenaline and fury and swings back with all he is worth.

Dean gets in a jab to his gut and throat before Sam tackles him, propelling them both into the wall so hard Dean's head cracks back.

Sam punches him. He punches his brother's stupid, self-sacrificing face until his knuckles are cracked and bleeding. He lets it all out - every single disappointment and crushing hurt he's felt since Dean brought their mother back. Because it's all Dean's fault, really - Amara would never have given Mary a single thought if not for Dean and isn't that just the icing on the fucking cake?

In the end it's Jody's horrified gasp of " _Sam_!" which makes him stop. Which makes him look and _see_.

Dean's face is a mess. His nose is pouring blood and his left eye is already beginning to swell. He stopped fighting back a while ago and Sam didn't even notice.

Sam pushes himself away and Dean sags down to the carpet. Dean touches his face gingerly and winces when it comes away covered in blood.

Sam steps backwards again. He's shaking - though not really from anger anymore - more like shock and the fact that the adrenaline is wearing off.

He turns and sees Jody standing in the doorway - the front door still open behind her. She is looking at him like she's never seen him before and - oh, that _hurts_.

He looks back down at the bloody mess he has made of his brother. God. What is wrong with him?

Sam swallows, wipes a shaky hand across his face and then turns and slides past Jody, back outside.

He walks down the drive, past the Impala and onto the road. He doesn't look back.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam doesn't really mean to stay away - he is planning on cooling off for a few days and then he'll go back - apologise. Help Dean sort out Sara and all the complications that came along with her.

But he has hitchhiked as far as Sioux City and then he finds a hunt. He sees the previous day’s newspaper headlines as he's wandering the early morning streets: _Claviston House Killer Strikes Again!_ Intrigued, he takes a paper from a stand outside a 7-Eleven and tucks it under his arm, retreating into a just-opening coffee shop. A yawning teenager waves him into a chair and brings him a coffee after a slow, sleepy prodding at one of the enormous machines behind the counter. “Black, no sugar, right?” Sam shrugs and thanks him, even though he distinctly seems to remember asking for a latte.

He waits until the kid has ambled slowly back to the counter before spreading the paper out on the table and flipping to the page with the article on. _Claviston House’s third murder in the past six months was committed last night in Apartment 27. Audrey Summers’ body was discovered in her apartment after neighbour Simon Liener heard suspicious noises_. Sam scans the article briefly, but it doesn’t offer any other details of particular interest. He looks up, “hey, kid! You got wifi here?”

The teenager looks up from nursing his own coffee and gives him a tired glower. He gestures half-heartedly at a sign on the wall. “Have at it,” he grumbles into his mug.

Sam squints at the sign and pulls out his phone. After a bit of googling he finds another, lengthier article about Claviston House with in-depth descriptions of all three murders - two women and a man, all in their mid-twenties. No other connection he can see, though. The man was asian, the women white, all were killed in their own apartments - a different apartment each time. They each had vastly different jobs and social circles according to the writer. The apartments are all on different floors. He reads through twice and can't find anything that alludes particularly to the supernatural - but even so he has a gut feeling.

He taps out of the article and tries to find any deaths further back connected to Claviston House, but he comes up empty. So he goes back to the first victim, Natasha Lovitska. She was found with her wrists slashed in her bathtub and the police had allegedly written it off as suicide until the second victim, Michael Bellew, was found suffocated in his sleep two floors above, two months later.

Sam decides he might as well check out the crime scene - luckily his FBI badge is permanently attached to his wallet and both were in his pocket when he walked out of Jody's.

He stands and pays for the coffee with a tip that is slightly on the mean side, but Sam feels justified about it and his wallet is currently lighter than he is altogether comfortable with anyway.

Claviston House isn't difficult to track down and his badge gets him past the grumpy solitary cop on the door without much effort. When he steps into the apartment the first things he notices are a flipped over chair, broken china on the floor near a sideboard and the heavy, wooden table in the centre of the room skewed obviously into the wall, shoved so hard one corner has actually disappeared into the plaster.

The second thing he notices is the two large stains of dried blood on the kitchen floor - about arm lengths apart. A yellow police tag with a bold black ‘1’ sits on the floor in the middle of one of the blood stains. Sam would bet anything that's where they found the murder weapon - presumably a knife.

He wishes he had an EMF meter to confirm his suspicions, or a sign of ectoplasm, anything. But he doesn't really need it. This isn't his hundredth haunting or anything.

So, looks like both Summers and Lovitska had their wrists cut. But the bathroom Lovitska was found in was clean, tidy, nothing broken or out of place according to the article. It's vastly different to this scene - and then there's the guy - Bellew - who was suffocated by his own pillow of all things.

What it adds up to, in Sam's opinion, is a new ghost who is learning her strength with each kill. Sam does his duty, salts and burns Natasha Lovitska’s body, tidies it all up, neat as you please and walks away, confident that the killings won't continue.

Almost immediately another hunt practically falls in his lap.

He is sitting in a bar ten minutes from the cemetery he just visited with a stolen spade, minding his own business when he hears two guys next to him start gossiping about all the hikers disappearing in Kabetogama State Forest. Sam feels like someone's messing with him a little bit. It’s too easy - hunts don't find hunters like this - they are sought out in long and tedious ways and often come up blank with no perceivable relationship with the supernatural. 

He sighs and casually butts into the conversation with the wide-eyed shock that so often gets people talking with their desire to impress. The men grin at each other and one leans towards Sam and begins to tell him, in the form of a horror story, the details of Kabetogama’s disappearances, laying the details as thickly and grotesquely as he can.

The case does sound interesting enough to look into so Sam wanders around parking lots once he's sober again until he finds an acceptable vehicle - old and clunky, won't be sorely missed, easy to break into - and starts driving it north through Minnesota.

After that it's a long and exhausting search tracking _something_ in the forest and trying to work out if it's a wendigo or something similar. The days just seem to slip away, so casually that Sam doesn't notice until the days have turned to weeks.

He does make a point to text Dean once a day to let him know where he is and that he's safe, but he never gets a reply. He doesn't really expect to. Dean can hold a grudge with the best of them. Though whether that particular grudge is originated from their fight or because Sam took off afterwards, he's not sure.

The forest is enormous in comparison to most others Sam has trekked through and quite frankly his tracking skills aren’t really up to scratch. The last time he spent any real time chasing something in a forest was a few years ago and then he was mostly just following Dean through the prickly undergrowth as he did the actual work.

Sam eventually manages to find his way (mostly through luck, he is pretty sure) to a cabin almost ten miles in and it’s clear that the something he is looking for has at the very least returned here a few times, if not made it an actual base. He finds bloodied clothes shredded across the floor and the sparse furniture is completely trashed in a clear sign of a struggle - or perhaps multiple struggles. He doesn’t find any bones or other human remains though, so if something is chomping on hikers it clearly moves to a different location first - either that or it cleaned up the bodies but from the look of the cabin cleaning up isn’t a priority.

He can’t find any more tracks around the cabin to follow, despite a thorough and tedious search, so he figures that staking out the cabin itself is as good a next step as any. He stays inside the cabin, reasoning that whatever it is will most likely sense him before he senses it either way and he wouldn’t mind a barrier between them, if only so he isn’t caught completely unaware if it comes along.

Sam sleeps in fits and bursts for the next few days, muscles tense with anticipation. He exits the cabin on the morning of the fourth day to find a body lying on the proverbial doorstep. It’s a man with his neck snapped and his eyes wide, pale and vacant. Rigor mortis has already set in but Sam can tell the man hasn’t been dead for much longer than that would take. Less than a day, anyway - that’s pretty clear. At a guess he would say that the monster brought him here alive - like all its other victims - and then killed him once it realised its cabin was not as empty as it had left it.

It shakes him more than he is willing to admit, finding that body. He heard nothing during the night and he hopes whatever it is won’t be able to enter the cabin so quietly. Whether the body was left there as a warning or because the monster was simply taken by surprise at Sam’s presence, he doesn’t know, but either way it is as aware of him now, as he is of it.

Sam builds up a pyre of all the dead wood he can find and drags the body to it. He covers it with what lighter fluid he can spare and strikes a match. He is hoping the creature might get angry enough to attack in the daylight as its meal gets chewed up by the flames, but he is left watching the smoking pyre disintegrate into ash as the day wears on with a gun in his hand and nothing to aim at. Oh, well. At least he spared the guy the indignity of being eaten.

He retreats into the cabin again when the sun sets and sets up camp in a corner with a broken table as a flimsy shield and his gun trained on the door. He makes up a molotov cocktail he brought the ingredients for just in case and he places it, along with a lighter, within easy reach.

It’s three in the morning and Sam almost misses the subtle light change as the cabin door is pushed quietly open. He swallows and carefully cocks his gun, other hand stretching out slowly towards the molotov.

A shape fills the doorway and Sam fires without thinking twice about it - three shots in quick succession - one in the head and two in the heart, all bullets pre-prepared silver, just in case.

The creature is on him before he has a chance to fire again, driving him back into the wall. Sam drops his gun just as hands close around his throat and goes for the knife he keeps tucked in his waistband. He swings it full force into the wrists attached to his neck and slices almost clean through one of them. The creature screams in shock and agony. It’s enough time to dive for the molotov and light it. His adversary - apparently not particularly suicidal - reacts by blurring back to the cabin door in a last, desperate act of self-preservation. Sam throws the cocktail just as it gets to the doorway and watches the wendigo (he is certain that’s what it is now) explode into flames.

The fire catches the dry frame of the cabin quicker than Sam would like and he has to break a window to escape. On his way out, wriggling through the window frame, he discovers that the wendigo may well have cracked one or two of his ribs when it rammed him into the wall, because the agony of the effort leaves him breathless for several minutes afterwards. But all in all he is fairly satisfied with the hunt and after double checking that the charred and smoking remains of the wendigo are as lifeless as they seem, he leaves Kabetogama State Forest in fairly good spirits.

He heads back to South Dakota after that, but slowly and via three separate small towns with above average mortalities (some kind of succubus, a werewolf and the ghost of a witch - who had apparently imbued some magic crystal with a part of her soul which gave her a lot more oomph in the afterlife than she had any right to). The last did leave Sam a little banged up - the witch ghost managed to catch his hand in a particularly forceful door slam which broke three of the fingers on his right hand. She also managed to land another blow to his already tender ribs.

Well, he isn't going to risk hunting with his trigger finger out of action so he is unable to put off seeing Dean any longer. Because he was putting it off, he's man enough to admit that. In truth he had expected Dean to track him down weeks ago, grudge or not. The fact that he hasn't has been worrying Sam a little.

He calls Dean's cell as he's passing the state boundary into South Dakota. It goes to voicemail, which isn't wholly unexpected. He sighs. "Dean. Hi. I'm about two hours out from Sioux Falls, man. If you're not there can you call me?" He hangs up and chews his lip, uncharacteristically anxious.

Dean calls him back two minutes later which makes Sam relieved he's still listening to Sam's voicemails and then annoyed as he realises that probably means Dean had purposefully let it go to voicemail just now.

There's a pause when the call connects and then Dean lets out a small rush of breath. "Sam."

Sam smiles. He can't help it. It's been too long since he's heard Dean's voice. "Dean. Hi." Another pause and Sam feels an unexpected rush of fondness as he realises Dean is going to make him make the first move. "Are you still in Sioux Falls?" Sam asks quietly, not yet ready to apologize - and maybe it's better that that particular apology is done face to face anyway.

"Yeah," Dean hums gently. "Not at Jody's, though."

"Oh. Motel?" Sam guesses.

"Listen, I'm gonna text you an address okay?"

". . . Okay."

"Okay." Dean exhales into the mouthpiece gustily. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're coming back."

Sam blinks, feels a sudden overwhelming surge of guilt and chokes out, "Me too."

* * *

The address Dean sends him leads Sam to a house about three or four streets away from Jody's. It is an ordinary house, but extraordinary for a house Dean is currently residing in. The only houses they usually stay in are abandoned. But the proof of Dean is there for him to see, plain as day. The Impala is sitting, gleaming, nose just poking out of the open doors of the attached garage.

Sam stops walking and just takes in the sight. He abandoned his stolen car a few blocks away, around the corner from the police station. He expects Jody will find it in one or two days and return it to it's rightful owner, not much worse for wear.

He takes a breath and walks up a slab path to the door. Feeling a little strange he raises a hand and knocks.

The door opens. Instead of seeing Dean though, he comes face to face with a petite woman with a beaming smile. Before Sam knows quite what has hit him she flings her arms wide and catches him in a brief hug.

"¡Hola! You must be Sam!" she cries. "Boy, you _are_ tall!"

Sam stares at her as she pulls away. He clears his throat. "Um?"

The woman's smile softens. "I'm Cina. Your brother's babysitter."

Sam feels a little lost. "Dean needs babysitting now?"

Cina snickers charmingly. "Maybe that wasn't the way to phrase that. Won't you come in?"

Sam swallows and sidles past her, into the house. "Is Dean . . ." Then he catches sight of the inside of the house and trails off. He has stepped directly into a kitchen. A kitchen with baby bottles thrown haphazardly in the sink and packets of formula lining the counters. "Oh my god," he whispers. "He's still got her, hasn't he?" He swings around to face Cina, wide-eyed. "He's been looking after her by himself?"

Cina's mouth opens in an 'o' of surprise. "¡Ay, madre! You didn't know?"

Sam stares. "Know? I don't know who _you_ are!" He looks around a little desperately. "Where's Dean?"

Cina bites her lip. "He's just gone to the store. He should be back in a minute." She pauses. "Sara's napping in the other room if you want to see her?"

Sam blinks. Then nods, jerkily. "Yeah. I want to see her."

Cina leads him through the kitchen to a cramped living room with a cot, pride of place, in the middle of the room between a sofa and tiny TV.

Cina leans against the doorway and smiles slightly. "Dean carries the cot up and downstairs every day. I think it's silly but he doesn't like her sleeping in her carrier for some reason."

Sam can guess the reason. He never had a cot after Mary died. Just a little, second-hand car-seat until he was big enough to share with Dean. He goes over to the cot and looks at Sara. She's definitely bigger. Her skin looks darker, too. She is still gorgeous.

"Aw," Cina says. "You look at her like Dean does." She grins and walks over, pointing at his face. "That exact same expression." When Sam gives her an affronted look she dimples and asks, "Coffee?"

Sam learns that Cina has lived in Sioux Falls all her life, excepting one botched attempt at college at the University of Wyoming. She has been bouncing around from job to job since then, trying to find something she loves. Dean met her during an unemployed streak which is how she came to start helping him with Sara.

"Jody actually introduced us," she says brightly. They are sitting at the kitchen table, large mugs of startlingly horrible coffee in front of them.

Sam nods and smiles like he has been the entire time she has been telling him her life's story and wonders when Dean will come home. How he'll be able to face Dean who has apparently been busy _raising their sister_ while Sam was running away.

"I actually used to babysit her son before-" Cina abruptly takes a large swig of coffee. "Wow, way to make it awkward and heartbreaking," she sighs. "I'm sorry. How do you know Jody, anyway? I never got that story out of Dean."

Sam smiles despite himself. "She was trying to arrest our uncle."

"Really?" Cina asks, wide-eyed.

"Yeah, well, Uncle Bobby was the town drunk and a suspicious bastard at that. I'm not sure what she thought he was doing exactly but uh . . ." Sam trails off. "Anyway, she's been looking out for us since he passed."

Cina smiles. "Sounds like Jody."

The front door is kicked open violently then and Dean appears, grocery bags clutched in both hands. He stops when he sees Sam and then smiles slowly. His face has healed up nicely, Sam notices.

Cina jumps up to take bags from him and Sam stands too, feeling awkward and out of place in a home that isn't his.

Dean dumps the last of the bags on the counter and marches over to Sam. He wrestles him into a hug before Sam can say a word and he just clings for a moment.

Sam closes his eyes in relief. He's not entirely forgiven, he knows. But he's welcome.

Dean pushes him away gently. "I see you met Cina."

"Sí," Cina smiles. "He was just telling me about your uncle Bobby."

"Ah." Dean nods and looks at Sam again, mouth turned up at the corners.

Cina looks from one to the other and then laughs lightly. "Okay, well it's about time I got going anyway. Need to get dinner on the table for my dad." She pulls on a jacket from a hook by the door and gives them a little wave with her fingers. "¡Hasta mañana!"

The door closes behind her and the house descends into silence. Sam is equally relieved at Cina's departure and nervous at being left alone with his brother.

Dean looks at him for a minute. "Beer?"

"Yeah," Sam nods, glad to abandon his foul tasting coffee. "Yeah."

"In the refrigerator," Dean directs and then swings round to deal with his groceries.

Sam finds the refrigerator and pulls out two beers.

He watches Dean put things away while he drinks. Dean knows his way around the kitchen, that's for sure.

"How long have you been here?" Sam asks quietly.

"Just over two weeks. Couldn't put Jody out any longer, even with Claire gone."

Sam looks away and clears his throat. "Yeah. About that."

Dean puts down an enormous bag of diapers and turns to face Sam. He looks serious and a little wary. "Jody and I talked a couple of days after you left. She said she has two teenagers on her hands, one of them a suicidal little bugger as well as a full time job as sheriff. She made it pretty clear that asking her wasn't an option." Dean gives a little shrug. "Like we said before there aren't really any other choices left."

"So you rented a house and hired a babysitter?" Sam asks incredulously.

"You weren't here," Dean snaps. "I did what I thought was right. And Jody - she introduced me to Cina when you didn't come back." He pauses and then adds quietly, "It's not a one man job, Sam. As much as I hate to say it, I wasn't coping by myself."

Sam swallows and looks at the tiled floor so he doesn't have to look at Dean. "I'm sorry," he says honestly. "I'm really fucking sorry. I think - I think I kinda thought that maybe mom had changed her mind - that she wanted Sara back. And you were going to go running back to her and fall over yourself in your hurry to forgive her, and then she was going to-" he breaks off before he says "break your heart all over again" because when he glances up Dean's jaw is clenched and his eyes are hard.

"Don't, Sam," Dean says quietly. "I can't change the way you feel about mom, but you can't change how I feel either."

Sam presses his lips together and nods. "Maybe it's best we don't talk about her, then."

"For now," Dean concedes.

Sam holds out the unopened beer as a peace offering. Dean snorts at him and takes it.

"So you're doing this, then?" Sam asks, gesturing at the kitchen with his beer.

"If by 'this' you mean taking care of Sara, then yeah. But if you're talking about some kind of apple pie, civilian life then - well, I'd like to say 'hell no'." Dean rubs a hand across his face and sighs. "Truth is, I haven't got a clue, though."

Sam stares a little. Then nods. "Huh. You'll be getting a nine to five next."

Dean glares at him. "Don't push it, Sammy."

Sam smirks, swigs his beer and then pauses. "Uh - how are you paying for the house? You know you can't use a credit card if you're staying put."

Dean looks very uncomfortable. "It's fine, don't worry about it."

Sam frowns at him. "Dean, if you're doing something illegal-"

Dean shakes his head. "'m not," he mumbles. "Don't _worry_."

Sam drops it. But only because Sara chooses that moment to make her presence known. Very known. Very loudly.

Dean winces. "I'll make you dinner if you-"

Sam waves him off. "Sure. She need feeding?"

Dean's eyes move to an ugly plastic clock on the wall. "Yeah." He tosses a few items at Sam - a bottle, formula, a rag ("Trust me, you'll want it.") and the enormous bag of diapers.

Sam goes to see Sara. He picks up her tiny, wriggling body and looks her over. She seems to have acquired a giraffe print onesie since he last saw her. She stops crying gradually, blinking up at him with wide eyes.

"Hey," Sam whispers.

Sara gurgles and bats her hands towards his face.

* * *

The house has two bedrooms - one Dean has obviously been using for Sara and one for himself.

"Are you sure you're okay sharing with her?" Sam asks as he helps move random baby crap to Dean's room. "She's pretty loud."

Dean rolls his eyes. "It's not like I can ignore her crying and go back to sleep. That's called bad parenting." He pauses. "Or child abuse."

Sam hesitates then says, "I mean - I'm here now. I can help out with nights and stuff."

Dean gives him a tight sort of smile. "Don't worry about it, man." He leaves Sam standing in his new bedroom, feeling a little lost and a lot useless.

He goes to bed, wakes up three times in the night along with Sara and doesn't get up once. When he finally does get up, about eight o'clock the next day it's to the sound of clattering in the kitchen.

"Hey, you're up! Buenos días," Cina says brightly, waving a spatula at him. "I'm making pancakes. Want any?"

"Uh," Sam says, buttoning up his shirt. "Yeah. I mean - that sounds great."

Cina smiles at him. "Dean probably won't be up for a couple of hours, but I normally eat breakfast here so he can sleep in after his night shift."

Sam laughs slightly awkwardly. "You spend a lot of time here, huh?"

Cina opens her mouth and then blushes. "Oh, madre . . . We're not-" she breaks off. "I don't know how to say 'I'm not sleeping with your brother' without it sounding crass. And assumptive." She winces. "I don't mean that I think he sleeps with every girl he spends time with, but he's - Dean's kind of a flirt, if you know what I mean?"

Sam smiles, trying not to laugh at her. "Yeah," he agrees. "Dean's kind of a flirt."

Cina laughs. "Vale. Anyway, glad we got that cleared up." She turns back to the pancakes. "So, Dean tells me you've been hunting for the last month or so."

Sam nods. "Yeah. In uh - Minnesota."

"You know," Cina says casually, "not that I have any experience to draw on here - but it seems a little strange to me that you would go on a month-long hunting trip just two days after your brother gets a baby dumped on him out of the blue." Sam frowns at her. Cina glances at him and then grimaces. "I'm not trying to judge, but from what Dean tells me - you two are pretty close. Like living together well into your thirties close. Can I ask why you left?" When Sam doesn't say anything she groans and stammers, "God, you don't have to tell me - I'm just being really nosy. But - I was kind of guessing it was something about the girl?"

Sam opens his mouth and closes it again. Eventually he asks, "What girl?"

Cina blinks at him in surprise. "Sara's mom. Dean's ex, I'm assuming?'

Sam blanches. "Oh - no. God, no. Dean didn't tell you?" Even as he asks the wheels start turning in Sam's mind - did Dean forge a birth certificate for Sara? Is she actually legally his daughter now? There has to be a reason Dean has deliberately misled Cina about Sara's origin. 

"Tell me what?" Cina asks curiously.

Sam pauses. "You know what? It doesn't matter. I left because we had a fight. That's it."

Cina purses her lips. She looks sceptical, but to Sam's relief she drops it. "Not my business anyway," she says with a quick smile. "Breakfast?"

Sam nods. "Please. Uh - Sara?"

Cina divides the pancakes between three plates and throws a cloth over one of them for Dean. "She's fed and napping. I was actually going to take her out after breakfast. Want to come with?"

Sam sits at the kitchen table and accepts a plate. "Where you going?"

"Just to see my dad. He owns a butcher's in town. He absolutely adores Sara, by the way." Cina smiles at him as she sits down. "Baby person."

Sam doesn't reply. It probably isn't any of his business at this point who hangs around his baby sister. Dean would have made all of his own judgements by now. He digs into the pancakes and chooses to forego the mug of coffee that has appeared next to him. He can wait until Dean gets up for coffee. Dean always makes really good coffee. "These are good," he says politely, swallowing a mouthful of pancake. He feels a wave of nostalgia, suddenly desperately missing the bunker. He isn't sure he likes this house with a garage and a lawn on the verge of suburbia. It isn't theirs. Not in the way the bunker has become and despite there being signs of Dean's prolonged presence everywhere he looks there is just something off and unwelcoming about the place. Or perhaps he is imagining things. Projecting, probably. What more could he expect after leaving Dean high and dry like that, though? Dean got on with his life as was his prerogative.

He needs to make it up to him. He needs to take a real, active role in taking care of Sara and not just make Dean carry on the bulk of it, like he has been doing. Maybe he can convince Dean to ditch Cina and come back with him to the bunker. After all, what safer place is there to raise their sister? Sam comes to an abrupt mental roadblock as he realises just the kind of havoc a child could cause running around and poking little fingers into hundreds of old magical artefacts and spell books. Not that that is an immediate issue, he reminds himself firmly. Sara isn't even sitting up by herself yet.

"Well, I'm off now, if you do want to come," Cina announces, clearing her finished plate from the table. She magics a shiny, new-looking pram from a cupboard that looks too small for it and unfolds it by the front door.

Sam pushes back his own plate and watches her contemplatively. "No," he says finally. "I think I'll wait for Dean to wake up."

Cina glances at him and then shrugs. Sam thinks he catches a hint of disappointment in her expression. "Suit yourself. We'll be back in an hour or two." She disappears into the living room and retrieves a sleeping Sara from her cot. Cina pauses as she is pushing the pram out the door. "If you change your mind just follow the road left until you get into town. The shop is called Henry's."

Sam nods. "Okay." He watches her close the door behind her and glimpses her walking down the path to the sidewalk through one of the kitchen windows. He stands up when he is sure she is gone and starts examining the kitchen from top to bottom. It is almost as he expected; when he pushes aside boxes of formula he can see the faintest outline of a sigil on the bottom of the cupboard. Behind a bookcase in the living room, under the doormat, behind the curtains, there is even an almost invisible chalk devil's trap on the ceiling. Symbols are dotted everywhere he thinks to look, but that is nothing in comparison to what he finds when he goes upstairs. 

Dean’s bedroom door is closed but when Sam walks back into the bedroom he slept in the previous night . . . Dean hasn’t even bothered to be subtle. There are countless sigils and symbols - all protective - that Sam had missed in the dark. They run up the walls, under and over the window sill, scratched into the floorboards and every bedpost. There is something a little curious about them all which Sam can’t quite work out. Something that nags irritatingly at his mind but fails to connect.

But besides that it is becoming increasingly clear that Dean’s decision to move here wasn’t solely about Jody. Dean is running from something. Running scared. And presumably that something has to do with Sara. Sam scowls, thinking back to the phone call that started that awful fight. Had Mary told Dean to run? Sam itches to go and wake Dean now, make him explain. None of this makes any sense. Why here? Why Cina? Why didn’t he call Sam home if something was going on? This should be bigger than their fight about mom.

He looks down at a hoodoo symbol penned onto the wall just above the skirting board. It looks like it was drawn in a hurry. There is a line missing. Sam sighs and digs in his pocket for the marker he always carries with him. He draws the line and feels it heat beneath his fingers. It was stupid of Dean to leave it open the way it was. Protective symbols are useless if they aren’t properly drawn. He glances around for more mistakes. There - the points of a pentagon not quite connecting. And over by the window is a rune Dean has incongruously drawn back to front. He isn’t entirely surprised, really, he thinks as he redraws the rune. Symbols are more his thing than Dean’s and he is usually the one to draw them.

“Damn, it’s that way round?” Dean’s voice sounds behind him suddenly. Sam jumps and the pen dashes a long black mark across the lines he has already drawn.

“Shit,” Sam sighs and starts again on the blank space next to it.

“Sorry,” Dean mutters. “Thanks for doing that. I wasn’t really sure on half of them - just drew everything I could think of.”

Sam turns and frowns up at him. “Sure. It’s no problem.”

Dean meets his gaze and then darts his eyes away, up at the ceiling. “I’m going to see if Cina left any breakfast.”

“She did,” Sam says, thinking of the pancakes downstairs. “I can’t believe she cooks for you.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean mutters, lifting a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. “She said it was easier to eat here when she was coming over so early.”

Sam sets his jaw and scowls down at the marker. “I guess you gave her a key, then.”

“What’s your problem?” Dean demands, looking down at him again. He looks a little pissed off.

“Nothing,” Sam mutters, not wanting to start another fight so soon.

Dean exhales sharply. “Fine.” He makes to leave the room and Sam abruptly changes his mind.

“It’s just,” he says, rising to his feet, “how well do you even know her?”

“Jody knows her. And I trust Jody’s judgement, don’t you?” Dean says quietly. He sighs, sounding tired and _done_. “What did you expect me to do, Sam?” Then he turns and leaves the room, treading almost noiselessly down the stairs.

Sam looks after him, discombobulated. It really isn’t like Dean to walk away from a confrontation. It never has been. He doesn’t _avoid_ conflict he barrels straight in and tramples conflict into the ground. Usually wielding a 45..

He follows after minutes of standing, staring stupidly at the walls and not knowing if he should be feeling guilty or offended. He hasn’t handled any of this with as much grace as he should have, considering. Maybe he should apologise again. Did he really even apologise a first time? He creeps downstairs cautiously, peering into the kitchen. Dean is pouring coffee into two mugs. He doesn’t look at Sam, but silently adds cream to one and takes the other with him to the kitchen table and his breakfast.

Sam ducks his head and contritely shuffles over and picks up the abandoned coffee. “Thanks,” he mumbles, cradling the mug to his chest. Dean doesn’t reply. Sam sighs and sits next to him. “Cina makes really awful coffee,” he offers awkwardly.

Dean pauses, fork halfway to his mouth, and then snorts. “ _Yeah_ ,” he says, word full of inflection.

Sam smiles and bends over his coffee, savours the smell and the warmth. Dean makes the _best_ coffee.

“So why here?” Sam asks when Dean has pushed back his plate and is cradling his own coffee between his hands.

Dean glances at him, exhales softly and then shrugs. “I didn’t know what to do. We had to get out of Jody’s house, but with you gone I still needed help, so I had to stay nearby.”

“Oh,” Sam breathes. “That’s why you didn’t go back to the bunker. Because you would have been alone.” He feels like an idiot. “Jesus, I’m so sorry, Dean. I’m so fucking sorry. None of this happened the way I planned. If I could take it all back I would. I’d even pick up that damn phone call.”

Dean stiffens just from the mention of it. He takes a stilted gulp of coffee and sets the mug down again.

Sam watches him, frustrated, unsure how far he can push this before Dean snaps. “So what was the call about, anyway?”

Dean looks down. “I thought you didn’t want to talk about her.”

“Trust me, I’d like to stand by that - but whatever you two talked about is clearly relevant and - and if it’s to do with Sara then I should know.”

Dean looks sideways at him. “You sure about that?”

Sam sets his mouth in a firm line. “I will stand by what I said - that day. I haven’t exactly proved that since, but I’m going to do better now. You, me, her,” he gestures between them, “I’m in this for the long haul if you are, too.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Well that didn’t sound at all gay,” he says sarcastically.

Sam smirks. “Well, I’m pretty sure the two of us wandering around with a baby is bound to give off that impression. Consider your game killed, man.”

Dean tilts his head and looks at him. “I don’t know, actually. Babies, gay, sensitive men - aren’t they like catnip to the ladies?” He waggles his eyebrows.

Sam lifts one foot and kicks it forwards into Dean’s leg casually, revelling in the look of disgruntled pain that flits across Dean’s face. “The call, Dean,” he reminds him, trying to get them back on track.

Any sign of levity immediately drains from Dean’s face. He gulps back the remainder of his coffee and then scrubs a tired hand over his eyes. “Right. Mom called again a few hours after you took off. Said she had something to tell me, and she had to tell me now. Then.” He sighs again. “I swear to god, Sam, I asked a hundred different questions and pushed and pressed and still the only thing I got out of her was that - Sara’s father is looking for her, she didn’t know how he found out about her, and then she told me to hide. She told me to keep away from hunters and to keep Sara safe.”

“That’s all she said? That’s it? Do we even know what we’re hiding from? A monster, a hunter, what?” Sam demands, agitation rising. He stands up and begins to pace the small kitchen, thinking furiously.

Dean doesn’t bother to answer any of his questions - probably figures most of them were rhetorical, anyway. He just leans back in his chair and quietly watches his brother’s frenzy.

Sam runs a hand through his hair, swivels, marches back towards Dean, then turns away again. “Keep her away from hunters . . . that means she doesn’t trust someone, right? Or that Sara’s dad has a connection to hunters? Why the hell couldn’t she just say? Why does everything have to be a fucking riddle with her?” Back towards the door. Towards Dean. The door. Dean. The door. “Did she even say for how long? Like exactly how long are we supposed to hide her? Until she’s eighteen? Longer? And what the hell right does she have telling us to stay away from hunters? They’re our community too, damnit! What if we need help? We sure as hell can’t ask her for it!”

Dean clears his throat loudly.

Sam darts a glance at him and sets his jaw, guilt seeping in again. He goes back to the table and sits back in his abandoned chair. “Okay,” he says, leaning forwards, spreading his hands across the table. “We just have to wait for her next call, right? We can hide until then.” He looks at Dean. “You know the bunker’s safe. Safest place we know, right?” He doesn’t want to ask. He’s afraid Dean will say no - that he doesn’t want to go back. That this is home now - this shitty two-floor suburban nightmare.

Dean exhales and places a hand on his shoulder. “Stop,” he says quietly. “You’re right. The bunker is safe. Can we please just not decide this right now? We’ve got time, haven’t we?”

Sam wants to whine, ‘ _why?_ ’ but instead he nods and slumps in his seat, angled slightly towards Dean.

Dean looks up at the clock. “I have to go,” he sighs.

Sam raises his head and frowns at him. “Go where?” Then, after a moment, his eyes widen as realisation hits him. “I thought you _didn't_ have a nine-to-five.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “In case you hadn't noticed it's practically eleven. I don't have a nine-to-five.”

“But you do have a job,” Sam says slowly.

Dean shrugs and stands. He carries his plate and mug to the sink, dumps them and runs the water for a second.

Sam exhales gustily. “Great. How long will you be gone?”

“I'll be back this afternoon.” Dean goes and shrugs on his jacket and jams his feet in his boots by the door. He pauses, then fishes some keys out of his pocket. “For the house,” he says and tosses them at Sam's head.

Sam catches the keys and inspects them with raised eyebrows. “And for the impala, apparently,” he says, picking out a familiar key.

Dean nods, solemnly. “Just in case. Ride the clutch one more time and I'll kill you.” He slams the door behind him.

Sam's face breaks into a wide smile. That's better.


	3. Chapter 3

It turns out Dean's job is working odd hours for Cina's father at his butcher's shop. The revelation that Dean is spending yet more time not only with Cina but also with her immediate family grates a little. He knows so little about this woman and Dean relies on her so much. Maybe it is the feeling of being replaced that irks so much - his sibling jealousy unveiling itself again after all these years - because it isn't that he dislikes Cina. From what he's seen there is very little about her you _could_ dislike. She is always available to lend a helping hand, but not in an overbearing way. She seems instinctively to know when to leave Sam alone and when he would appreciate the company. Everything she does and says is encompassed by a sunny outlook that Sam desperately wants to mock. More than that, he wants Dean to mock with him.

Sam made a promise to himself that he would become more involved with his sister and he intends to keep that promise. He half wants to dive so much into taking care of Sara that he renders Cina redundant within a matter of days, therefore eradicating her from Dean's life. But he is aware enough to realise that that kind of pointless covetousness wouldn't exactly endear him to Dean at this point.

So instead Sam does what he can to relieve Dean's side of things. In the early hours of the morning he creeps into Dean's room and carries Sara's crib out so that when she next wakes it will be him who first hears her and Dean can instead sleep undisturbed from three until whenever the hell he feels like waking up. When Dean gets home from work Sam makes sure to have a hot meal waiting for him - usually take-out of some form or other, admittedly, but sue him, he's not the cook of the family.

Sam spends more time with Sara. He learns what sends her straight to sleep - singing, no matter who by, as long as it is soft (it's like watching a computer power off: first droopy eyelids and then soft little baby snores all in a matter of seconds after you hit the button) - and he learns to recognise what Dean calls her ‘poop face’. He learns to change a diaper in sixty seconds flat and how to tell whether she is hungry or just agitated. Most importantly he is there the very first time she smiles.

Dean squawks at him from the sofa and tells him to come see and Sam abandons his book in favour of peering over Dean's shoulder at the tiny bundle against his chest for the chance of seeing one of his sister's brand new milestones.

He peers at her doubtfully. “Are you sure it wasn't just gas?”

“It was a real smile,” Dean insists. “What am I, one of those parents who cries wolf at every facial twitch? I know a real smile when I see one.”

Sam tries hard not to think about the fact that Dean just called himself her parent. “Well, what were you doing?”

“When?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “When she smiled. What did you do to make her smile?” Sara blinks green eyes at him lazily.

Dean pauses. Then he makes the ugliest face Sam has ever seen in his life. He feels a laugh burgeoning into existence in his throat but before it can surface Sara makes a little gurgle and her face contorts into something resembling pleasure. She’s smiling.

“She’s really smiling,” Sam breathes, strangely giddy with pride. Which is ridiculous. She was bound to smile at some point and it isn’t as though he had anything to do with this particular development.

“Told you,” Dean snipes, but the bite in his tone is completely neutralised by the beaming smile on his face.

Sam lays a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. “That’s pretty awesome.”

Dean looks up at him. “I don’t remember when you first smiled.”

Sam shrugs. “You were four. It’s understandable.”

“Yeah,” Dean sighs. He looks down at Sara again. He looks besotted.

“Pretty sure you were made for this, Dean,” Sam says. “I’m - almost glad you got the chance to do this, you know?”

Dean frowns, but doesn’t argue. “Maybe she’s not the worst thing to happen to us,” he admits.

Sam cracks a grin. “Wait until she’s a teenager and say that.”

Dean gives him a narrow-eyed look. “I handled you just fine when you were a teenager.”

Sam snorts. “Yeah, well. You were my real-life hero. To her you’re going to be the grey-haired grump who raised her.”

“Grey-haired?!” Dean pauses to adjust Sara slightly against his chest then swings his now free right arm right into Sam’s stomach. “Bitch.”

Sam wheezes and wonders why he didn’t see the hit coming. He laughs breathily and falls onto the sofa next to Dean. “Jerk.”

* * *

The first time Sam sees Jody again is . . . awkward to say the least. He doesn’t know how to act around her, almost physically cowering because he is dreading her disappointment. He doesn’t know how to explain it to her - explain the fact that Dean and he have always resolved their arguments fists first - doesn’t know if it even matters. He fucked up, true. But it isn’t the first time and Dean - he has forgiven Sam. Probably. Mostly.

He walks the half mile to her house from Dean’s a week after his return to Sioux Falls, unable to put it off any longer and spends a good few minutes pacing back and forth on her doorstep before he gathers the courage to knock.

Jody doesn’t say much of anything at all as she answers her door, stares at him for a moment, then waves him in and leads him to the sofa in the living room. She won’t meet his eyes. They sit in a searing silence, the clock ticking obnoxiously on the wall behind Sam’s head, its sound resonating loudly within his skull and only managing to put emphasis on the quiet between them. Sam blurts out an apology two minutes in, no longer caring about finding the right words, exactly, but feeling a burning need to display his genuine contriteness before Jody gives up on him completely.

She still won’t meet his eyes so he studies his hands instead, which anxiety induced twists have rendered hot and sweaty. “I am - _so_ sorry - that you had to see that - that it came into your home. It’s not what you deserved after taking us in like that.” He looks up at her and is startled to see that Jody has bent forward, her face in her hands. He stops talking and waits, anxious, unsure if he should go on, whilst absolutely certain that he hasn’t said enough.

Jody sighs after a moment and raises her head. Sam is relieved to see that she wasn’t crying: her face is dry. She looks exhausted. “You’re a grown man, Sam. I’m not going to tell you how to live your life. I’m not going to lie and say that I’m not - affected by what happened, but it’s hardly my business.”

“It _is_ your business,” Sam counters. “You have been a friend for _years_. You’re family, you know that. You have every right to disapprove, to disagree with my actions. I made a mistake. I am more than ready to accept the consequences of that. But I’d like you to forgive me. That’s important. Are you - can you?”

Jody meets his gaze _finally_ and it almost instantly makes him want to look away. “Of course I can, Sam. But I’m angry. I need time for that to go away.”

Sam slumps. “What can I do?”

“There’s nothing you can do for me,” Jody says sharply. “I’m not the one you left.”

Sam nods and looks down, guilt clawing at his insides. “I know. I won’t leave again.”

“If this isn’t what you want, Sam . . .” Jody leans forward again, trying to meet his gaze. “I’m not saying you have to sacrifice your future - or your happiness - if this isn’t right for you. But Dean deserves you to be straight with him, whatever you’re feeling.”

“This is what I want.” And it feels so easy and right to say that - even he doesn’t really mean it. If Dean is raising their sister then he wants to be there right along with him, a hundred percent, but that doesn’t mean this is the path he would choose for himself. He gave up his last remnants of a dream of a future like this a long time ago and he isn’t sure he wants to open up that door again because it took him years and a shit ton of heartbreak to close it the first time. The prospect of letting in that kind of hope again promises to be incredibly painful.

Jody nods, looking satisfied, if not happy. “Well, then. Good. Are the three of you staying here? In Sioux Falls?”

Sam shifts and sits up straighter. “I’m not sure. We haven’t exactly talked it through at length yet.”

“Okay, well, I was going to suggest a weekly get together? As long as you stay. Honestly,” Jody smiles at him - the first real smile she’s given since he got here, “I’d like to see more of you. Especially with you so close by.”

The relief Sam feels then is palpable. It overwhelms him. He smiles back at her. “I think we’d like that.”

* * *

It is on Sam's way out of Jody’s house that he finds Claire. She is sitting on that quaint little porch swing seat that Dean can never resist making fun of whenever they visit, reading.

She looks up at him and raises her eyebrows. Her hair falls around her neck in her usual half braided style and Sam sees that she has a new piercing in the ear it reveals. He sort of wants to warn her that having all that ear jewellery is going to be a big regret if she ever gets clocked on that side, but he imagines she knows. Like all teenage girls image trumps practicality, right? All the way down to the leather jacket and heavy biker boots. Though those, of course, actually are practical in her line of work. There’s a reason Dean wore their dad’s jacket for so many years, after all - and it wasn’t just because he was trying too hard (too hard to be, too hard to seem). Leather can turn teeth and claws like nothing else can.

Sam glances at her book and is faintly surprised to see that it is a worn copy of Mansfield Park. Claire turns the book into her chest and spreads her hands over the cover in a belated attempt to obscure it. She is red with embarrassment in a way Sam thinks would be more germane to being caught reading erotica than Austen. “Guilty pleasure.”

Sam shrugs back at her. “It's a good book.” He glances back at the door he had just emerged from. “Can we take a walk?”

Claire snaps the book closed and stands. “I thought you just made up with Jody. You sure you wanna risk making things worse being all cloak and dagger?”

They fall into step on the sidewalk, headed back towards Dean's. Sam notices Claire side-eyeing him, so he sighs and says, “I'm not saying she wouldn't approve, necessarily, but I don't want to involve her unless I have to.”

Claire nods slowly. “Whatever, I'm down.”

Sam huffs. “I haven't even asked anything yet.”

Claire snorts. “Your text said enough that I know you’re going to ask a favour. And you wouldn't ask at all if it wasn't important, I know that much.”

“Fair enough.” Sam considers his next words carefully. “I don't know if you're aware but there's a . . . situation - to do with Mary. And - well. Sara, too.”

Claire gives him an unimpressed look. “You're gonna have to give me a little more than that, dude. Are we talking monster? The reason you're raising a baby and your mom isn't?”

“Yeah, that's pretty much it,” Sam says. “At least as far as we can figure.”

Claire makes a face. “That's it? What are you asking me to do, exactly? 'Cause I can't hunt blind.”

“I'm not asking you to hunt. In fact, if my mom's running scared, I'd rather you were as far away from this as possible.” When Claire gives him a deeply scathing look he raises his hands and says, “I'm aware you can handle yourself. You forget that Dean and I were in this life as teenagers too. But everyone meets their end sooner or later - and for hunters sooner beats later every damn time.”

“Except for you,” Claire objects. “I've asked around and you and Dean have been hunting for longer than anyone else out there, so far as I can figure. And you're still alive.”

Sam wonders just how much she's heard about them. If she has any idea what they went through to still be here, together, today. He doesn’t suppose there are many people out there who know the whole story. Most of everyone is dead and gone now. He clears his throat and moves on. “Actually, that's what I wanted to ask you. I know you have hunter connections, so - I was hoping you'd just keep an ear out.”

Claire purses her lips. “For anything related to your mother and her current goings on?”

“If you would.”

Claire shakes her head, “I don't get it. Why are you asking me? You must have way more hunter friends than I do. And it's not exactly convenient to go through an intermediary.” She looks up at him and squints. “What, you don't want to be traced back to this? You want answers but you don't want anyone knowing who's asking the questions?”

“Mary told Dean to stay away from hunters. I'm assuming she has her reasons, but . . .”

“But you want answers anyway.”

Sam smiles down at her and ruffles her hair before she can duck away. “You're pretty smart.”

“Yeah, I wanna be a detective when I grow up,” Claire rolls her eyes.

“Hey, if wanted to go legit I bet your mom would be pretty ecstatic,” Sam prompts, thinking of the anxiety Jody goes through whenever Claire is away. More than once she has asked Sam and Dean to go and check up on her - and they always have, no matter how far away they are. Not that Claire would know that. They have always kept their distance, Dean’s reasoning being that if Claire knew she was being watched she would make it much harder for them to find her the next time.

“She's not my mom,” Claire mutters, but she falls silent in a way Sam reads as introspective and he holds his tongue in a real hope that what he said will make a difference. Teenagers shouldn't hunt. No matter who they are.

Dean's house appears from around the corner as they reach the next street and they both slow as they look at it.

“Does Dean know about this?” Claire asks, feet coming to a standstill.

Sam stops next to her. “He knows what I know.”

Claire narrows her eyes, but doesn't press him. “Well, whatever. I said I'd do it, so I will. But you owe me one,” she warns.

Sam smiles, grateful. “Anytime.” Then, as Claire turns to start the walk back to Jody's an awkward thought occurs to him. “Claire - you can be subtle, right?”

Claire flips him off without even turning around.

Sam supposes that if the whole thing goes pear-shaped and whoever it is they’re running from gets a scent on Claire then - well, it will be all his fault.

* * *

Just as Sam predicted Dean is thrilled by Jody’s invitation. It really is a waste living so close to her if they don’t visit more. What does surprise Sam is that Dean immediately decides to host dinner that Friday and goes into a happy frenzy about what to cook. No surprise to anyone what he comes up with is burger related - but Sam imagines that the result will be the sort of gourmet burger you could order at a fancy restaurant rather than at a diner. Dean is inordinately proud of his ability to turn junk food into works of art - but the problem with art is that it is highly subjective and almost never appeals to everybody, no matter how much work goes into it.

Sam is happy - proud that he has indirectly put Dean in this kind of good-natured excitement that is (secretly) rather endearing. He follows his brother around the kitchen while he ransacks cupboards and scribbles out a grocery list. Dean freezes part way through and turns to Sam with deer-in-the-headlights eyes. “Is Alex a vegetarian?” he demands.

Sam takes a step back and shrugs carefully, keeping an even distance between himself and the pen in Dean’s hand that looks as though it is contemplating becoming a weapon at any moment. “I really don’t know. Am I supposed to? Did she say she was?”

“I don't know!” Dean snaps.

“I’ll text Jody and ask her,” Sam placates. “And then I’ll go get the groceries for you if you like. I’ll even take Sara so you can get started without any distractions.”

Dean pauses and then scoffs, shaking his head. “No. You won’t get the right stuff. You’ll come back with all the organic, half fat varieties you can get your hands on, no respect for the list!”

“You realise there isn’t a drawback to organically grown vegetables, right?” Sam asks, amused, as he types out the promised text to Jody.

Dean ignores him and finishes his list. “I’ll be gone for like an hour. Text me as soon as Jody replies!” The door slams behind him.

Sara starts wailing from the living room and Sam winces. He loves her, he really does, but does she have to cry at every little offense? He cannot wait until she learns to use her words. Before he can go to her, though, the door opens again and in bustles Cina, smiling widely with bags hanging off each arm. Dean is right behind her looking pleased but a little perplexed.

Sam spins right around and goes to get Sara before Cina can get any ideas and leave Sam in the dust to look incompetent again. When he comes back to the kitchen, Sara cradled gently against his chest, Dean is gleefully unpacking grocery bags.

“What’s going on?” Sam asks awkwardly, trying to soothe his sister’s quiet whuffles.

“Cina already bought everything,” Dean beams like two minutes ago he wasn’t itching to go to the store himself - like he hadn’t just told Sam that whatever he bought _wouldn’t be right_.

Sam sniffs and shifts Sara in his arms. Whatever. It’s not like he _wanted_ to go to the store for Dean - but now Cina is getting all the credit without Dean even getting upset with her.

“Aw, is she unhappy?” Cina coos from Sam’s shoulder, suddenly all up in his space. “Déjame,” she says, worming her arms under and around Sara’s tiny body like a motherfucking octopus. Sara is gone before Sam can _let_ her do anything. “Why don’t you go sit down, Sam? We’ve got everything handled here.”

Sam tries not to glare at her. “I can set the table or something.”

Cina waves him off. “Don’t be silly. They won’t be here for hours yet. We’ve got plenty of time.”

A horrible, awful thought occurs to Sam then. “We?” he asks, extremely pointedly.

Dean grins over his shoulder. “Oh yeah, did I not mention? Cina’s joining us tonight.” And the bastard looks extremely happy about the development.

Sam struggles not to sulk. Wasn't the whole point of this dinner supposed to be about spending time with family? Where the hell did Dean get off inviting someone else? With Cina there they wouldn't be able to speak freely. Anything to do with hunting or - almost anything about their lives - would have to be skirted around or made into a point blank lie. Just like in any other circumstance involving civilians, admittedly, but that is exactly why having Jody and the kids in their lives is so wonderful. And now Dean is ruining it. Sam can only hope that inviting Cina isn't going to be a regular occurrence.

His cell buzzes in his pocket and he absentmindedly grabs it and looks. “Message from Jody,” he mutters, walking over and leaning into Dean's space. “Looks like you're in the clear,” he says, angling his cell so Dean can see.

Dean breathes out and goes back to slicing and onion. “Good. I was freaking out about tofu and that shit.”

Sam makes a face. “Vegetarians don't actually need a meat substitute. This may come as a surprise to you but some people actually enjoy eating vegetables for their own sake. And not just as a preventative measure against scurvy.”

Dean gives him an affronted look. “I know.” And as if to demonstrate he plucks a curl of onion from the pile in front of him and eats it. He smirks at Sam's dumbfounded expression. “I had a life before you, you know.”

At that Sam rolls his eyes. “You were _four_ , Dean.”

“And mom made the most delicious carrot sticks,” Dean sniffs. “A skill which she passed on to me, if you remember. You used to go crazy for 'em.”

Sam shakes his head but accepts a ring of onion that Dean practically feeds him. “Whatever,” he mumbles around the mouthful.

“But you're right. Vegetables are good for keeping the scurvy away.” He shudders. “Never going through that again.”

Sam gapes. “Seriously?”

Dean just smirks at him.

Sam, after a pause, decides he doesn't believe him. It's really not that easy to contract scurvy. Vitamin C is in a lot of different foods. And Dean does actually tend to take care of his body, despite all outward appearances. After all healthy hunters tend to stand a better chance of surviving their chosen occupation.

His contemplations are interrupted by a sharp elbow to the ribs. “C'mon man, you're crowding my work space. Go put that big brain of yours to use. Get your nerd on. Read that next Game of Thrones book you've been yacking about or something.”

Sam raises his hands in surrender. “All right. Sorry.” He backs away from the counter and glances over at the table where Cina is busy entertaining Sara with silly voices and faces.

He sighs. Oh, what the hell. He might as well make an effort seeing as she's here. He ambles over and clears his throat. Cina smiles when she looks up, eyes crinkling, dimples . . . dimpling. She really is ridiculously sweet. “Uh. Want to take a walk with me? We could show Sara the park. Try the swings?”

Cina stands up at once. “That sounds fun! I think Sara is a little young for the swings, though.” She runs a hand through her hair and blushes slightly. “It will be nice to spend a bit of time with you.”

Sam . . . doesn't really know what to do with that, so he smiles back as genuinely as he can and makes a grab for Sara. “I'll get her dressed, then.”

“I'll grab some spare diapers, then!” Cina chirps.

Sam spins away in lieu of replying and finds Sara's jumpsuit-overcoat thing in the living room. He really doesn't know what he is trying to accomplish here. Sure, it will make Dean happy if he makes an effort with Cina, but it's not like she'll really be around long enough to matter.

He pulls a tiny, soft, baby hat down over Sara's ears and prods her gently in the nose. She stares at him and her face scrunches up adorably. Sam smiles at her and scoops her up. He honestly can't wait until she learns to use her words.

Cina has the pushchair all open and ready to go by the door, but Sam shakes his head at her. “I think I'll just carry her.”

“Hey, why not?” Cina says. “In fact why not just set her down and she can get a head start on walking. She'll be light years ahead of the other babies! Isn't that right, sweetheart?” she coos.

Dean snorts loudly from his place by the sink. “Just let him hold her, Cina. If he doesn't want the pushchair he doesn't have to take it.”

Cina shrugs. “Fine. I'm just saying - you'd be surprised how heavy babies can get when you've got nowhere to put them down.”

“I think I can handle it,” Sam retorts gently.

Cina glances at his arms and blushes again. “Uhuh.”

So they head outside into a cool breeze of spring air. Sam breathes it in, greedily. He misses the wide open spaces around the bunker; there are too many houses here - too much life - but as places go this isn't so bad. The people are generally quiet but friendly and they are far enough away from the centre of Sioux Falls that it doesn't feel as stifling as it could.

Cina falls into step beside him and smiles up at Sara's wide, pensive eyes. “She's very lucky to have you both, you know. You're going to raise her brilliantly, I just know it.”

Sam raises a sceptical eyebrow. “Yeah . . . I don't know about that. Dean and I were screwed up pretty epically by our parents. And I know they did their best - for the most part.”

Cina shrugs. “So learn from their mistakes. What I learned from my dad is not to uproot your ten year old daughter from her home to drag her halfway across the world to a place she barely knows the language. I mean - not that it screwed me up that badly - but that was definitely a tough couple of years for both of us.”

Sam clears his throat. “Sorry. That sucks. You were born in Spain?” he guesses.

Cina nods distractedly. “I learned English pretty fast. Wasn't a huge issue. The toughest part was actually when I found someone I could speak Spanish to and discovered that even that wasn't the same. Different pronunciations, words that were new to me . . . made me feel worse and worse. Homesickness isn't fun.” She shakes her head. “Anyway - what I was trying to say is that just because your parents weren’t the most functional doesn’t mean you and Dean can’t do a good job with Sara. You’re already great with her.”

Sam shifts Sara in his arms slightly awkwardly. “You think? I’ve never really had anything to do with babies before her. Not like Dean.”

“Dope,” Cina accuses. “Yes, I’m sure. She loves you.”

Sam smiles tentatively back at her. “Well, thanks, I guess.”

Cina exchanges enthusiastic greetings with a couple of people they pass - a lady with a tiny yapper on a leash, a shy looking girl with her nose in a book. They look curiously at Sam and seem to know Sara by name. He smiles awkwardly and tries not to attract too much attention to himself.

He wonders if this is what he would have experienced, growing up in Lawrence, with all the same neighbours knowing him and watching him grow up. He wonders just how different he'd be as a person. Would he be more social like he was at college and constantly surround himself by friends? Would Dean have been less of a friend and confidante and more of an annoyance like so many of his friends described their siblings? The thought makes his stomach tighten. He shifts Sara more closely into his chest and noses gently at the top of her head. She is so precious. She deserves the best life they can give her. He just wishes he knew how to do that.

The park, he finds, when they get to it, isn't much of a park. There are a few trees scattered around the edge of a circular stretch of green with a swing set and miniature roundabout one one side. There are three benches placed strategically facing the play area but that's about it. There isn't room to kick a football let alone enjoy a scenic stroll.

Sam decides Sara can sit in his lap while he, in turn, sits on a swing that is quite frankly far too narrow to comfortably seat his rear. It will feel like a rocking chair, he thinks, if he goes gently. Aren't they supposed to be popular with babies?

Cina falls inelegantly into the swing next to him and they both survey the noticeably unpopulated vicinity.

Sara makes no observable observation over the swing; she has latched on to a fold of Sam's shirt and is sucking it intently. Sam supposes she hasn't yet learned to suck her thumb. He pushes at the ground casually with his feet, slowly moving backwards and forwards, careful not to jolt his sister out of her contented stupor. Nowadays he feels almost as if he is holding his breath if Sara is quiet and happy, almost petrified of causing any upset. He is sometimes actually less tense when she is screaming her head off.

He looks across at Cina who has apparently found her inner child and is pushing herself hard and fast into the air, a carefree grin on her face. She catches him watching and stumbles to a stop, laughing lightly. “¡Dios, I've missed this! Don't you just miss being a child?”

Sam smiles. “No. Not really. I like getting my own way in things too much.”

Cina laughs again. “Good point! I felt like I missed so much cool stuff as a kid simply because my dad wouldn't let me go to all the events my friends went to. I used to think he was such a hardass. But he's not really, he's just cautious.” She tilts her head at him and glances down at Sara's bundled up form. “So. Are you going to be a strict uncle or a fun one?”

The title catches Sam off guard. Uncle. He looks down at Sara as well, frowning. Is that what he's going to be to her? Her uncle? He supposes so if Dean is going to continue to portray himself as her father. He isn't sure how he feels about that. ‘Uncle’ makes him sound like a relative; less of a permanent fixture. “I don't know,” he mumbles. “I guess I'll just go with the flow.”

Cina shakes her head and pushes off the ground again. “Well, just as long as she thinks I'm the cool babysitter,” she teases.

Sam scowls again, all of his good humour from the last hour disappearing. It's like she thinks this is a long-term gig. Had Dean said something to give her that impression? God, he hopes not. It's not often Dean clings to the people who come into their life - but when he does it's never casual. If he wills it, he'll find a way to make them stay.

* * *

Jody arrives promptly at six with a bored Alex trailing behind her. Alex nods at him and squirms past them in the doorway, muttering something about food.

Jody rolls her eyes and reaches up to smack a kiss to Sam's cheek. “Claire will be along a bit later. She-” she makes a face. “I'm not entirely sure what she's up to, but she's being mysterious.”

Sam nods and tries not to look the slightest bit guilty. “That's fine. Come on in.”

Dean is hovering by the worktop, a bottle of wine in his hands and glasses piled next to his elbow. He has been looking oddly nervous since Sam got back in, but now his forehead is smooth and his smile is genuine as he gives first Alex then Jody a one armed hug.

Alex seems to perk up a little when she realises that one of the glasses Dean is pouring is for her. She is very quiet about accepting the glass which makes Sam think that she is trying not to draw Jody's attention to her.

“So where's my little - great niece?” Jody asks, foregoing the wine in favour of nosing in the direction of the living room.

Dean smirks at Sam. “I told you it was a good idea to move up her nap.” And to Jody, “In the crib. You can get her if you like.”

Sam smiles back and accepts some wine. The wine Cina bought, apparently. Dean might have the foresight to buy wine rather than beer for a dinner with Jody, but Sam doubts he would choose something in the over ten dollars price range he suspects this particular bottle was found in.

“How's the nursing going, Alex?” Dean asks, leaning back against the worktop next to Sam.

Alex shrugs. “It's all right. Sort of interesting sometimes.”

Dean rolls his eyes and mouths 'sort of interesting?’ at Sam. Sam just frowns at him and tries to remember when Alex started nursing. Is that what she meant when she said she was doing 'something like’ college? “You're training to be a nurse?” he says to Alex.

Alex nods and gulps her wine. “Euch,” she makes a face. “Yeah. Nursing. Was Jody's idea.” She shrugs again. “I dunno, it's kind of cool.”

The doorbell rings again and Dean sets his glass down to go open it.

“Is that Claire?” Jody calls, reappearing with a sleepy Sara.

Dean throws open the door. “Cina! You made it back.” He leans forwards and pecks her on the cheek. “You look great.” He stands aside and waves her in.

Sam catches a glimpse of her and then stares, slightly confused. Cina is . . . _dressed up_. She is wearing a deep blue satiny dress that isn't what Sam would describe as casual at all. She catches his eye as she moves past Dean and smiles prettily, brushing her hair back behind her ear.

Sam isn't an idiot. He knows what a woman looks like when she's trying to catch his attention. And Cina is showing all the signs of being very, very interested. It's a complication Sam doesn't really appreciate at the moment, but he generally tries not to be a jerk so he gives her a small smile and says “You look nice.”

Cina gives him a pleased smile. “Thank you. I know it's over the top, but it's a new dress and I haven't had the chance to wear it yet.”

“No,” Sam clears his throat awkwardly. “It looks lovely on you.” He realises the kitchen is entirely too silent and that Jody, Alex and Dean are watching their interaction with all the subtlety of a nest of vampires. Dean, when he looks at him, has a very strange expression that Sam isn't really sure how to catalogue.

Cina smiles widely at Jody and embraces her enthusiastically, neatly avoiding squashing Sara between them. “I feel like I haven't seen you for ages.” She grins at Alex, who is once more looking bored.

Dean eagerly brandishes the wine bottle again and even tops up the glass held by a dubious Alex as he circulates the room and presses wine into Cina’s hands while she talks animatedly with Jody.

It's nice - the atmosphere, the ambience, all of it. It makes Sam feel warm and comfortable deep in his belly. He watches Dean make a fool out of himself just to get Alex to laugh and watches Cina and Jody turn simultaneously to coo at Sara when she makes a noise. Dean catches his eye and winks cheerfully as he murmurs something else to Alex that makes her collapse into surprised giggles. She looks a lot less like a sullen teenager all of a sudden and a little more like the adult she's fast turning into.

Maybe it's not so bad that Cina's here, Sam reflects reluctantly, sipping his wine. At least, it hasn't spoiled anything yet.

* * *

Claire manages to turn up just as Dean is proudly serving the burgers he put so much effort into. She raps loudly on the door and barrels straight past Sam when he opens it with little more than a genial punch in greeting.

“Hey, y'all,” she says, sliding into a chair next to Alex. “God, Dean, this looks awesome.”

Sam shuts the door with a sigh and goes back to the table. He tries to catch Claire's eye as he sits down, but she is studiously avoiding his gaze by making conversation with Cina of all people. It irks him, but he's not going to bug her about it now, for obvious reasons.

Dean sits down next to Sam with a pleased smile and his knee nudges into Sam's affectionately. He raises his eyebrows at Sam's untouched burger pointedly and stares him down until Sam rolls his eyes and takes a bite.

It's good - really good. Perfectly cooked steak and onion and more vegetables in it than he knows Dean is altogether comfortable with. He makes a happy noise and takes another bite just to see a satisfied, self-congratulatory smirk flicker across Dean's face.

* * *

It is much, much later after a second bottle of a wine and a couple of games of poker that became far more serious than intended when Dean and Claire's competitive streaks kicked in that Alex and Jody take their leave, rosy cheeked and a little unsteadily on Alex's part.

Claire hangs back and tells them that she'll catch them up.

Dean gives her an amused look from where he's lounging loose and easy in his chair. “Are we playing another round, kiddo?”

Claire gives him a dirty look. “No. Actually-” she pauses and glances at Cina, “I wanted to talk to both of you.”

Dean stops smiling and sits up, eyes flickering between Sam and Claire. Sam doesn't meet his gaze.

“Well, I suppose that's my cue,” Cina laughs. She stands and manoeuvres herself awkwardly out from behind the table. She is possibly the most sober out of all of them, despite the glasses she managed to knock back through the evening. Sam was grudgingly impressed.

She ruffles Dean's hair as she passes him and smiles at Claire. She stops in front of Sam and says very deliberately, “I had a lovely time this evening.”

Sam wonders what she wants him to say. He settles for a “me too?” that makes her roll her eyes. She stands on her tiptoes and pulls at his shoulders until she can reach his cheek. She kisses him once, briefly but sweetly and sashays out the door before Sam can say anything else.

“Sam, sit down,” Dean says and Sam turns to see that Claire has sat down opposite Dean and they are both watching him with sober expressions on their faces.

Sam sits. “Claire?”

Claire glances between the two of them. “Well, I did some digging like you asked. And it didn't take me half as long as I thought it would to come up with anything.”

Dean leans forward. “What did you hear?”

“The hunters - most everyone I spoke to - they're all looking for your mother.” Claire looks at down at the table. “In fact, I think she's being hunted.”

“What?” Dean bites out. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”

Claire shrugs. “Honestly? I don't know. But they're going crazy about it. Whatever she's done - it's bad. They're terrified.”

Dean sits back, mouth agape. He looks at Sam wordless with appeal and Sam . . . he just wishes he was surprised. He looks back at Claire and suddenly feels exhausted.

“What else do you know?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really, really sorry that this took me so long to write!

Claire leans back in her chair, arms folded, expression testy. “Fuck _off_ , Dean! I’m not going to tell you who said what. If anyone finds out I've sicced the Winchester brothers on them I'll never get an honest word out of anyone in the hunter community again. Your mom’s not an idiot, anyway, she knows how to hide. In imminent danger she is _not_ ”

Dean growls at her, sound reason and logic buried far beneath a pile of guilt, worry and panic. Sam touches his arm with a graze of his fingertips; a silent appeal. “You really don’t know anything else, Claire?”

Claire sighs heavily. “I thought you’d _want_ to know the moment I found anything out,” she says defensively. “Clearly you’d rather I knew the entire fucking-”

Sam winces. “Yeah - hey, you’re right. We appreciate you keeping us in the loop. Sorry.” He glances pointedly at Dean, who just scowls back at him. Sam rolls his eyes. “At any rate, Claire,” he continues, turning back to her, “you know you can stop at any time? If you’re worried about getting backlash over this, or - or _anything_.”

Claire looks bored. “Don’t be stupid. Look, I’ll text you if I get anything new, okay? But I’m headed out of town tomorrow and won’t be back for a while.”

“What?” Dean demands. “Where? Why? Is it-”

Claire stands up. “It’s a fucking hunt, Dean, don’t get your panties in a twist. Nothing to do with your mom.”

Dean scowls. “Fine,” he says gruffly, “just keep us in the loop like you said. And you should be sending Jody _daily_ texts.” He jabs a finger in her direction. “You dropping off the radar is bullshit no one needs. We will come after you.”

Claire actually smirks at that. “Sure thing, Dean. Oh - and Sam? I got a new burner.” She pulls a scrap of paper out her pocket and slaps it down in front of him. “You should, too. Especially if we’re texting about Mary.” She taps the paper once, “text me when you’ve got one. All right, I should go, Jody will be waiting. Dinner was great, Dean. You make a damn fine housewife.” She grins and leaves the table, snatching her jacket from the peg near the door. Sam and Dean stand, but she waves them off. “Hugs should be for resurrections only, I’ve decided. Keep your hands to yourselves.” The door slams behind her.

Dean moves to the door and pulls the deadbolt across with a snap. He checks the salt lines briefly and pauses for a moment, still facing the door, like he is collecting himself before turning to face Sam.

Sam waits. He pushes his chair under the table tidily. Then attends to the other five. When he looks up again Dean is watching him silently, leaning back against the front door. He starts speaking as soon as Sam’s gaze meets his, like he was waiting for it. “Smart move, I guess, recruiting Claire. It shouldn’t be traced back to us so easily, anyway. I’m kind of surprised that you didn’t just do it yourself, though. Figured you’d be gone as soon as Mary said not to. You’ve always been a contrary bastard.”

Sam purses his lips. “Yeah. I guess I deserve that.” He starts clearing the dishes, just for something to do with his hands. “I won’t leave again, though. If you’re here with Sara, then I am too. You don’t get to take this on by yourself.”

Dean is silent for a moment, then he moves across the room and collects the empty wine bottles. He rinses them in the sink and then stands them neatly by the door ready to go out with the recycling tomorrow. It has to be the weirdest part of the evening so far. Not that they don’t recycle in the bunker. Sam is conscientious like that. But this feels different somehow. On a whole other level.

They work together quietly, filling the dishwasher and clearing away the leftovers. Dean places the last glass inside the dishwasher and closes the door, sets it. “I think we need to talk.”

Sam thinks he could probably count on one hand the number of times Dean has willingly volunteered to talk about his feelings. He just isn’t built that way. Dean has always been all about the avoidance and manly posturing. “O-okay. What about, exactly?”

“Well - this-” Dean gestures around them, presumably indicating the house, “whole situation. It can’t really go on like this. I don’t even really know what I’m doing here. I just - I can’t let Sara-”

“Grow up like we did?” Sam guesses.

Dean glances at him and then looks away. “Yeah, whatever,” he says gruffly. “Something like that.”

Sam sighs and scrubs a hand through his hair. “Then - what do you _want_ , Dean? Do you want to quit hunting?”

Dean shrugs evasively. “I don’t . . . I don’t know.”

“Well, it’s sort of an important thing to figure out, Dean,” Sam snarks.

Dean scowls at him. “It’s not like you’ve told me what you want from all this.”

Sam pauses, thrown for a second. “Oh. Well . . . I don’t know. But I want this. Us. I mean - you me, and Sara. That sounds pretty great to me. Whatever we’re doing.”

Dean frowns at him. “But you’re not happy here. You’re pissed whenever Cina comes in the door and you’re - I don’t know, just - angry.”

Sam feels his face morph into a pout before he can stop it. “That’s just - I don’t _want_ Cina here. You don’t need her anymore. We can do everything ourselves, right? You and I can raise Sara just fine without a third set of hands. We don’t _need_ her.” To his consternation when Sam looks up Dean appears to be trying not to laugh. “What?” he snits defensively.

“Man, what is _wrong_ with you?” Dean complains. “Isn’t this everything you’ve ever wanted? Normal, apple pie life? I thought you’d like her. Hell, she’s definitely into you!”

Sam gapes at him. “What? Wait a minute - you - you were trying to set me up with her!” He jabs a finger in Dean’s direction. “You totally were, weren’t you? Dean, what the fuck?”

Dean throws his hands up in the air. “Goddamn, Sam, what’s your problem? She’s hot, she’s awesome and she wants to sit on your dick. I’m really not seeing the problem here!”

Sam squints at him. “Is this why you wanted us to stay here? You thought, what, me and Cina would get married and live here with you and Sara like one big, weirdly dysfunctional family? I mean, you’ve gotta lay it out for me dude, because I am not seeing the big picture here. Did you even have a plan?”

Dean screws up his face. “No! I mean - not. No. Come on, man I’m not saying you have to marry her. I just thought - if we’re doing this anyway - isn’t this what you want? The girl, the picket fence - one point five more kids?”

Now it’s Sam who feels like laughing. “Normal guys don’t settle down to raise kids with their brothers, dude. Come on.”

Dean scoffs. “Semantics.”

Sam makes a face. “Right.”

There is a long silence, then Dean lets out a gusty breath. “Well this conversation is getting us exactly nowhere.”

Sam feels his mouth twitch into a smile. “I don’t know, Dean. I feel like everything is a whole lot clearer now.” He shakes his head. “I can’t believe you were trying to set me up with Cina, man. She’s not even my type.” He leans back against the counter and smirks tiredly at Dean. “You seem to like her. I’m kind of surprised you never tried anything before I got here. Why is that?”

Dean looks at him. His gaze drags slowly down Sam’s body, then up again to meet his eyes. He steps forward slowly and leans into Sam, fingers sliding through his belt loops to tug him closer, right into his space.

Sam pulls in a short, surprised breath as Dean’s face presses into his shoulder. “Dean?” His hands close hesitantly over Dean’s shoulders.

“Maybe she’s not my type either,” Dean mutters quietly.

“What?”

Dean sighs again. “It doesn't matter, man. And I really did think you'd like her.” He drops his hands and steps back. “You know what? I'm tired. You think we can continue this in the morning?”

And Sam watches Dean go, slip into the living room and climb the stairs. He feels a little confused and a lot like he just missed something big. Like Dean was trying to tell him something important. But for the life of him, Sam can't figure out what.

Maybe Dean will tell him tomorrow. For now Sam just follows his brother upstairs to bed. Whatever it was, he's sure it can wait.

* * *

They don't talk about it in the morning. They don't really talk about it for days after that. Time passes in a sort of blur of monotony. Dean's hours at Henry's seem to get longer and more frequent. Cina still hasn't actively done anything about her wildly obvious crush on Sam, but he finds time with her awkward and stilted all the same, and avoids her when he can. He is left with nothing much to do again because Dean _still_ hasn’t sacked Cina - or even brought up the possibility. Maybe he is still hoping Sam will change his mind about her.

They have Jody and Alex around for dinner twice more and Claire is noticeably absent.

Sam cleans. He wipes the kitchen down, scrubs the toilet, vacuums the entire house. He misses the polished stone and hardwood floors of the bunker which almost seemed to clean themselves some days. 

He also starts selling English papers again online to lazy-but-loaded highschoolers - something he used to do for a bit of extra cash when he was at Stanford - the nagging worry about the cost of Dean's fabulous new life constantly at the back of his mind. Dean still hasn't told him how he's paying for the house, but the day to day expenses, at least, Sam is relatively sure are covered by Dean's butcher job. Though exactly how much money is being appropriated by Sara-centric expenses, he doesn't really know.

Sara is laughing and smiling every day now, batting her little hands at Sam's face whenever he picks her up and gurgling nonsensically. She coos to herself when she thinks no one is around and can frequently be found drooling happily over her own fist.

She is sleeping better too, at night. Dean is only having to get up once or twice from dusk to dawn, which is helpful. And it is only after his face starts to lose that awful grey tinge just under his eyes that Sam even notices that it was there in the first place.

All in all, life isn't exactly anything he would choose for himself, but it's not bad, either. And every time he catches Dean and Sara together, gazing adoringly into each other's eyes it becomes a little bit harder to convince himself that this was never part of the plan and the thought of what could have been - Mary never asking for that last meeting and leaving them forever in complete ignorance - makes his heart clench painfully.

Sara has only been his sister for nine weeks - not even all of that time known to him - but Sam knows without question that he would die for her a thousand times over. He could remember once thinking that he would never love anyone as much as he loved Dean - it just wasn't in him - but now he's not so sure.

“Sam?”

Sam startles out of his reverie and looks up to see Cina leaning in the doorway of the living room, Sara balanced in her arms. He clears his throat, closes his laptop and stands up from the couch. “Uh. Yeah. What's up?”

Cina smiles at him, but it seems to lack its usual wattage for some reason. "Hey. Listen - I just got a call from a friend of mine from highschool - um, and she's a little . . . upeset. If it's all good with you I'd like to go check up on her. So I was wondering if you could take Sara for the afternoon?"

“Oh! Yeah,” Sam hastens to agree. “Yes, of course. Whatever you need.” He extends his arms for Sara and eases her into them, against his chest.

“Great. Thanks." Cina smiles gratefully. "I'll try to be back tonight but she lives a couple of hours away so I might not . . .”

Something childish and gleeful manifests itself in Sam then. He can't quite help himself. “No problem,” he grins widely. “Take all the time you need. No need to rush. We'll be just fine without you. Stay the night! Stay two nights.”

Cina's mouth drops into an 'o’ of surprise as Sam practically herds her towards the door. “Okay - are you sure-?”

“Positive,” Sam assures her. “Help your friend.”

And then she's gone, door closed behind her with a satisfying _click_. Sam can't stop himself from smiling goofily down at Sara. Two whole days without Cina. Hell, Maybe even three! This is exactly what Sam needs to prove to Dean once and for all that they don't need her.

And then another wonderful thought occurs to him and Sam is shoving his feet in his boots and slipping out the front door himself before he has actually made the conscious decision.

It isn't difficult to locate the little butcher shop Cina's dad owns, a big blue sign proudly declaring the name - Henry's - so Sam barely has to glance down the requisite street before he sees it. A bell rings lightly as he steps inside, drawing the attention of the sole occupant of the shop, a very slight man in his fifties, who is sitting behind the counter.

The man sets eyes on Sara and explodes forth with such rapid-fire and delighted confabulation that it takes Sam a minute to identify the language as something he actually recognises. He catches the words 'Sara’, 'brother’ and 'emocionante’ amidst a jumble of words spoken too fast for Sam to even begin to untangle the English from the Spanish.

After a moment the man stops speaking abruptly, pulls off his latex gloves and holds out his arms in clear request. Sam hesitates, but honestly he knows exactly who the man is - there are traces of Cina in every expression, and he can't actually think of a good reason to deny him. Slowly, he nods and allows Sara to be pried from his arms. It is clear this isn't the first embrace the two have shared, at any rate.

Sam hovers for a moment, uncertainly, then remembers why he's here. “Um - is Dean - donde está mi hermano?”

Henry glances up at him, smiling and nods at a door behind him. “In back. You can go.”

Sam smiles awkwardly at him and edges around the counter. “Thanks.” He pushes the door open, and with only a little hesitation, leaves Sara to fend for herself.

The back room is small with a large table pushed against one end. Several meat hooks extend from the ceiling next to the table, but none of them are in use. Opposite Sam is a large metal door, presumably leading to a freezer room.

Dean is standing at the table with his back to Sam, clad in hairnet, apron and long disposable gloves. A radio perched on a slant on the windowsill seems to have covered Sam's approach, leaving Dean totally unaware of his presence.

Sam lets himself look at Dean for a moment. He is hacking enthusiastically at something with a meat cleaver even as his hips are gently swaying in time with the rock ballad that is being belted out tinnily from the radio's crappy speakers. He looks focused and almost care-free at the same time and it makes Sam smile.

He pulls one of Sara's rags out of his jacket pocket and whips it at Dean's ass with zeal. Dean jumps about a foot in the air and swings around with the meat cleaver raised. He gapes at Sam.

“What the hell, man? Cut it out!” One hand drops protectively to cover his ass.

Sam snorts with mirth. “Couldn't resist. You should have seen yourself!”

Dean glares. “Bitch.”

Sam just smiles sunnily at him. “So this is your job, huh?” He makes a show of looking around the room, even though he has catalogued everything interesting already.

Dean watches him, narrow-eyed for a moment and then turns back to the table. He hacks down with the cleaver almost viciously and visibly relaxes at the satisfying _thunk_. He looks back at Sam. “Yup,” he drawls, almost daring Sam's disparagement.

Sam shrugs instead. He doesn't have anything bad to say, not really. But he does enjoy getting Dean's hackles up. “Seems fine.”

Dean raises his eyebrows but doesn't comment. “So what are you doing here, Sammy? Get lost on the way to the park?” He cranes his neck to see through the window of the door back to the shop. “Is that Sara? Is Cina with you?” He waggles his eyebrows. “Voluntarily hanging out with her again?”

“Which question do you want answered first?” Sam replies drily.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Come on, man. You've never been here. What's up?”

Sam clears his throat and smooths back his hair. “Um. You know, I was thinking how it has been a few weeks since we were last in the bunker. Er - longer, really, because of the hunt we were-” He coughs. “Anyway-”

“Spit it out, Sam.”

“Cina’s gone to uh - help out a friend. For a few days.” Dean frowns so Sam clarifies, “I think it was some kind of minor emergency or something.”

Dean nods slowly. “Right . . .”

Sam rocks back on his heels and tries to look as innocent as possible. “So. Uh - bunker? You, me, Sara. Just for a few days? I mean, half our burners are back there, so god knows what we’ve missed and - I could pick up some books. I know you left your Dr. Sexy box set in your room.” Dean isn’t saying anything, so Sam shrugs expansively and says a little desperately, “Just - supplies! I thought we could get some stuff. Plus the fridge probably needs cleaning out . . .” He trails off and looks hopefully at Dean. But Dean still isn’t talking, is just _looking_ at him. Sam scowls. “You know what? Fine. It was a dumb idea.” He turns to push his way back through the door again, but Dean grabs his elbow and halts his retreat.

“Sam, hold on a second.” Dean sighs and pauses. “I’m just not sure if this is the right time for that.”

Sam bristles. “Not a good time? What the hell does that mean?”

“You want to go back to the bunker for good, Sam!” Dean snaps. “You think I don't know that? And I'm - I’m not sure yet.”

Sam turns to look at him, exasperated. “A trip. Three days, Dean! That’s all I’m asking. Let’s just go home for three days,” he pleads. “We can decide the important stuff later. Or during. It doesn’t matter. I just thought with Cina out of town you’d be more likely to go for it.”

Dean sighs and lets go of Sam's elbow. “Yeah, I know.” He stops, clearly indecisive.

Sam waits.

Finally Dean sighs and shrugs. “You know what? Okay.”

“Okay?” Sam asks hesitantly. “You’re sure?”

Dean smiles tiredly at him. “I’d like to go home too, Sam. Okay.”

Sam grins broadly back at him. “Good! That’s - that’s good. Can we leave today?”

“After my shift ends,” Dean promises. “Henry won’t mind.”

“Great! That’s awesome!” Sam suddenly feels so much lighter. He just knows that if he can get Dean to the bunker he is halfway to persuading him to stay. “I’ll just - I’ll pack up a few things. We’ll be ready to leave as soon as you’re done.”

Dean nods at him, a little amused, and Sam has the sudden urge to hug his brother. So he does. A quick, exhilarated squeeze and then he leaves to claim back Sara, to shake Henry's hand warmly, if belatedly, and to walk back to the house as fast as he can. Because in just a few hours - they'll be going _home_. Finally. And he can't wait.

* * *

The creak of the heavy bunker door as it swings open welcomes Sam somehow, deep in his soul. He relaxes into the slightly musty, warm air circulating the room with satisfaction as the lights flicker on below.

He treads comfortably down the steps, his and Dean's duffle bags swinging off one shoulder, with another bag twice as large, and filled with Sara's life as she knows it, clutched in his other hand. He can hear Dean behind him, walking carefully, with Sara in her car seat tucked securely against his chest.

The floor, when Sam reaches it, is smooth and lint-free, the enormous tables standing by empty and polished. None of the light fixtures suffer a single cobweb. Sam runs a finger along the edge of a table and it comes away without any trace of dust.

“Huh,” he says. Weeks since they left. “Weird.” He turns back to Dean. “Where is Sara going to sleep?”

“My room,” Dean says, without hesitation. “There was some sort of cot in one of the dump rooms, wasn't there?” He starts walking to his room and Sam follows, wrinkling his nose.

“I don't think it was a cot,” he says dubiously. He doesn't think the old Men of Letters brought their families down here ever.

When they get to Dean's room they both stop in the doorway and look silently around. Guns and machetes on the walls, whiskey and bullets on the bedside tables. Sam isn't even that surprised to see no less than seven throwing stars scattered on the floor.

“Um,” Sam begins, unsure where to begin, but Dean cuts him off abruptly.

“Your room,” he grunts decisively and swings around.

Sam lets him go without comment. He drops Dean's bag on a table and then moves next door, where Dean is already setting Sara's car seat on the floor by Sam's bed.

Even in Sam's room there are several items Dean feels the need to clear out completely before letting Sara settle in.

Sam dumps the other bags on his bed and watches Dean bemusedly. “You're aware she can't even sit up yet?”

Dean grunts and pockets Sam's favourite hunting knife. “With our luck the knives are baby-cursed. And you know. Levitate.”

Sam isn't about to argue with that. “Point. I'll go and find that cot.”

There is no cot. There is some kind of small animal cage which Sam pulls out from behind an old settee, which he supposes, if one squinted, could possibly be misconstrued so. He deems it inappropriate for use, however and moves to find something else.

There are many old wooden boxes in the bunker, some with runes carved into them, some clearly designed to contain this or that artefact and most of them a perfect size to hold a sleeping baby. But Sam is loathe to put her in any one of them. As Dean said - knowing their luck he would unwittingly select something with a curse on it. In fact, with that in mind, Sam steers clear of anything that looks remotely old and spooky and inevitably finds himself wandering around the inhabited parts of the bunker eyeing anything he knows for a fact was brought down here by him or Dean.

Dean catches him scrutinising the cooler they usually use for beer, in the kitchen. “Oh, for fuck's sake, Sam,” he sighs.

Sam straightens up, embarrassed. “It is a little small,” he admits.

Dean rolls his eyes and adjusts Sara, who is as usual tucked into his chest. “I'm gonna make her a bottle. And then she needs to sleep. Find something, Sam.”

Sam checks his watch. It is late, there's no doubt about it. And jerking around Sara's routine like this when she's only just starting to accept it seems like a very bad idea. In the end he uses Jody's trick and clears out one of the drawers in the dresser in his bedroom. With a blanket folded inside it looks warm and comfortable.

Dean comes in as he is finishing up and nods in grudging approval. “That'll do.” He bends and spends several minutes fussing with Sara as he gets her settled. Sara's eyes are half closed and she looks one moment of peace away from falling deeply asleep.

Sam finally bats Dean's hands away, exasperated. “Leave her, Dean. Come on.”

Dean stands up and stuffs his hands in his pockets. He is frowning unhappily.

“Are you going to stand there all night?” Sam asks, unbuttoning his shirt.

Dean glances at him quickly and then smiles a little sheepishly. “Nah,” he says easily. “I'll see you in the morning, Sam.”

Sam raises his eyebrows and nods. Dean closes the door behind him as he leaves. Sam leans in over Sara's drawer and notes that her eyes are firmly closed. “Your big brother is a total mother hen,” he tells her quietly. “And you are going to have him wrapped around your little finger by the time you're speaking. So go easy on him, yeah? The less heart attacks we give him in his old age the better.” Amused, Sam shucks the rest of his clothes and scrambles into bed. “Goodnight, sis.”

* * *

Sam wakes with a subtle change to the light and shadows and immediately tenses, hand automatically curling towards his knife which - goddammit, Dean had taken away. But - “Dean?” Sam whispers, eyes trained on the long silhouette in the doorway. The shape shifts and moves inside the room.

“Sorry,” Dean mutters. “I didn't mean to wake you.”

Sam sighs, relaxing back into the pillow. “What's up?”

“Nothing. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Sam says drily. When, after a long moment Dean neither moves nor speaks again, he pushes himself up on his elbows and tries to make out his brother's features. “Dean.”

A deep sigh and then Dean slowly retreats back to the doorway and disappears into the shadowy hallway.

Sam groans and fumbles for the lamp beside him. It flickers on and he squints against the brightness. “Dean.”

Dean slinks back into view. He is wearing silk pyjamas Charlie gifted him years ago and quite frankly looks shifty.

Sam suppresses the urge to mock him. “What's wrong?”

Dean shrugs sullenly. “I've gotten used to having her in the room. I was just checking on her.”

Sam sighs. “Do you want to take my bed? We can swap.”

“And have you mess up my memory foam?” Dean's voice rises indignantly. “No. I'll be fine. Just go back to sleep.”

Sam rolls over and turns the lamp off. “Suit yourself,” he says tiredly. He starts when, a moment later, he feels the mattress depress on the other side of the bed. “Seriously?” he gripes.

“Shh. Just for tonight. Goodnight Sammy.”

Sam grumbles into his pillow and hogs the duvet just to be a jerk.

* * *

Sara is kicking Sam rhythmically in the chest when he wakes again. She lies, trapped between her brothers, looking far too chipper for - Sam checks - 6:42 in the morning.

Sam moves his hand to push her legs away slightly. He looks across at Dean who is awake - of course he is - and starry eyed. He meets Sam's eyes and smiles, sleepy and slow. “I had to get her. She wanted to see her gigantor big brother.”

“You wanted morning cuddles with her, more like,” Sam rolls his eyes.

“Can't deny a man his morning cuddle,” Dean replies, eyes dancing with mirth. “Especially not with a girl as cute as this one.”

Sam's eyes slip closed again, quite without his permission. “Shocking. Your very own sister, too.”

“My brother isn't bad either.”

Sam's eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn't open his eyes. He smiles into the pillow. “Even with my hair?”

“I'll shave it off,” Dean promises solemnly. “I'm just lulling you into a false sense of security.” But Dean's fingers are gently smoothing back Sam's bed head, and Sam doesn't believe him even a little bit.

“You looove it. You want to stroooke it,” he croons and finally opens his eyes again only to lose focus as his entire vision is filled with Dean's looming face.

Dean slumps back down into his own side of the bed so abruptly that it startles Sara into an full blown meltdown. Dean stands up and scoops her into his arms. “She probably needs changing.” And then he disappears, silk pyjamas billowing behind him as he leaves, snagging Sara's diaper bag with his free hand as he passes it.

Sam is left to stare at the empty bed in surprise and confusion, wondering what the hell just happened.

He gets up when the smell of bacon starts wafting in from the vague direction of the kitchen and allows himself a small smile of satisfaction. Dean's cooking breakfast. It's been a while, that's for sure.

He stops in the kitchen doorway just as he finishes pulling on a t-shirt. Dean is cracking eggs into a large pan and Sara is lying on the kitchen table on her stomach. She looks happy again if slightly frustrated.

“Uh, Dean? Why is Sara on the table?”

“She's working on her core muscles. Or . . . something. Cina started doing it with her. It's supposed to be good for her development.” Dean glances at him over his shoulder and shrugs. “Hell if I know.”

“And she has to be on the table for this? What if she falls off?”

“I didn't want to tread on her. And you know - when was the last time anyone cleaned these floors?”

Sam sits down at the table near Sara's head and smiles at her. “Yeah, about that. Have you ever cleaned down here? Because I sure haven't.”

Dean turns to stare at him. “No,” he says slowly. “Can't say I have.” He eyes the counter speculatively. “Sam . . . You do wash the dishes, right?”

“Uh. No?”

“Sam!” Dean sputters, outraged. “You don't? Man, I do all the cooking down here! I thought you were at least helping with the clearing up afterwards. What the hell?”

Sam frowns at him. “I don't do the dishes. Never have. And you thought I was doing them.”

“Damn straight!” Dean yells.

“I think you're missing the big picture here, Dean. Neither of us has washed a single dish in this bunker. And it's not like there's a dishwasher.”

Dean stares at him. “So who the fuck is washing our dishes?”

"You know, I was only thinking about it recently. Just goes to show how used to other people cleaning up after us we are. But nothing here has ever got dirty - at least not for long. Remember that hunt six months back when we both got totally slimed? We came straight here and then you spent three days scrubbing the impala. But we were literally dripping it everywhere-"

"Don't remind me," Dean shudders. "I didn't think Baby would ever be the same again."

"-all over the bunker, and then we just forgot about it! The floors were clean again and we didn't even notice."

Dean looks thoughtful. "So - invisible maid service? Because you can come out if you like," he calls out louder, "we don't mind."

Sam throws a spoon at him.

"What?" Dean shrugs and dishes up the bacon and eggs. "It's actually pretty cool, if you think about it. Some kind of spell maybe?"

"But how will you ever grow up if you never learn to do things for yourself?" Sam snipes.

Dean sits down opposite him and sets two plates down with mounds of bacon, eggs and toast on each one. Sam takes his and then eyes Dean's plate.

"You've got more bacon than me," he accuses.

Dean looks guilty. "Come on! You don't even appreciate it!"

Sam glares and darts his fork forward and impales two rashers on Dean's plate. He stuffs them in his mouth before Dean can retaliate.

"Sam!"

Sam chews, swallows and peers with satisfaction at Dean, who looks livid. "If you eat like that you'll never make it past fifty, Dean."

"But you can?!"

"I take better care of my body. Besides," Sam says smugly, "I'm younger."

Dean scowls at him and picks Sara up off the table. He holds her in one arm and digs into his breakfast grumpily with the other. "Last time I make you breakfast."

Sam shrugs happily and bops Sara on the nose. She practically giggles at him.

When they finish breakfast Dean carefully stacks the used plates and pans on the counter right next to the sink and then just stands there, waiting.

Sam, who has taken custody of Sara, watches him watch the plates, entertained. "A watched pot never boils, Dean," he advises.

Dean grunts in acknowledgement, but doesn't move.

Sam stands up from the table and moves to join him. "Maybe it's easier for the spell if they're in the sink?"

"They are going to scrub themselves clean and then levitate to the cupboards where we keep them. I don't think the spell has a problem where I stack them," Dean scoffs. But after another moment he lifts the pile and deposits it in the sink. And waits.

"You know," Sam says thoughtfully, "I'm not sure that's what happens. We may be oblivious but even you would have noticed by now if our dishes where in the habit of levitating around the kitchen."

"Well then we'll find out what happens, won't we?" Dean says stubbornly.

Sam rolls his eyes and adjusts Sara. It could be a long morning. "Set up a video camera?" he suggests.

Dean side-eyes him. "You got plans, Sammy?"

"Actually," Sam realises, "I do!" He grins broadly at Dean. Today could actually prove to be quite productive, in fact. He sets up the camera for Dean and then drags him back to the hallway their bedrooms are attached to. Dean's room first, on the right, then Sam's right next door. The door after that is a guest bedroom most recently used by Mary. On the other side of the hallway opposite Dean’s room is the bathroom and finally, opposite Sam’s room, is another room. The only thing they have used it for thus far is to store random crap they have no idea what to do with. But it shouldn’t take long to clear out. And - Sam pushes the door open and surveys the area - yep. It is the perfect size for a nursery or child’s room. He grins at Dean over his shoulder.

“The crib can go by the far wall - there’s even enough room for a single bed when she gets older - and there’s plenty of space for her to spread out with toys and stuff. Over here,” he gestures to the left of the doorway, “I’m thinking maybe a rocking chair or something.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “A rocking chair? Okay, grandma.”

“You’ll love it,” Sam promises. “I guarantee I will catch you sitting in it at least once a day.”

Dean doesn’t look particularly amused. He actually looks a little conflicted.

“Hey. I - uh. This doesn’t have to mean anything.” And when Dean’s eyebrows shoot up Sam rolls his eyes and continues, “I just mean that fitting the bunker with a nursery doesn’t have to be a statement. Whatever we decide to do we’ll be here from time to time, right? Having her own room here just makes sense.”

Dean nods slowly. “Okay. So you wanna do this now?”

Sam beams at him. Another step towards bringing Dean home. “Yeah.”

It only takes two hours to clear everything out of the room, mostly due to the fact that Dean refuses to bother actually sorting any of the crap and decides to just relocate everything as is to another room. Sam doesn’t argue too hard. It isn’t as though they have a shortage of unused rooms down here.

They head into Lebanon and buy the first crib they can find that will fit in the car, some soft toys Sam mostly buys just to fill out the room and a big pot of blue paint. Sam complains about that last because it is the only thing to stop them moving Sara in right away, but Dean is adamant.

"The paint is peeling and I counted at least three suspicious stains on the walls," he says stubbornly. "Come on! It's not like we can't afford to make it a little nice for her. And," he adds for extra weight, "if this _is_ going to be her childhood bedroom we want her to look back on it fondly. Not in creepy fascination."

"Aren't you just going to cover the walls in badly drawn sigils anyway?" Sam argues, mostly out of habit, because he has already given in.

Dean gives him an odd look. "I don't think anything I do is going to make the _bunker_ more protected."

"Aha!" Sam crows, "So you _do_ think it's the safest place for her!"

Dean doesn't say anything to that, he just frowns at Sam and lugs the tin of paint over to the register.

So Sam resigns himself to having Sara in his room for the remainder of their stay. She can at least sleep in the crib tonight.

When they get back to the bunker Dean makes a mad dash for the kitchen and Sam follows behind, lugging their supplies, mildly intrigued. The dishes are no longer in the sink and Dean is already fast forwarding the camera footage with the hand not wrapped around Sara.

"Got it," he says after a minute, and Sam leans in to watch. The slightly grainy video shows the plates in the sink doing nothing particularly exciting approximately twenty minutes in and then - they're gone. Vanished. Dean replays it in slow motion but they still just disappear between one blink and the next. Dean hems and haws and looks in the cupboards. He reaches in one and brandishes a frying pan at Sam. "Same one I used this morning," he confirms. "There's a little scratch on the handle."

Sam frowns and nods. "Didn't we bring that in with us? You didn't like what they had down here, I remember."

Dean grunts. "Guess that means it's not the equipment."

"Weird," Sam evaluates and exits the kitchen.

"Hey!" Dean calls after him, jogging to catch up. "That's it? You're not more curious than 'weird'?"

Sam gives him an amused look. "You're normally fine with just accepting things."

"And you're normally raring to get your geek on! What's wrong with you?"

"Maybe I just don't think something like this is going to have any negative effects on our lives, Dean," Sam says patiently. "I'm chill. If you want to look into this then I'm not going to stop you."

"It's no fun on my own," Dean grumbles.

"By which you mean you don't want to have to do your own research?" Sam ducks into his room and sets the crib, the bag of toys and the paint on the floor.

Dean watches him, gently bouncing Sara on his chest.

"She still asleep?" Sam asks, ripping into the crib's packaging.

Dean glances down. "Yeah." He bends and deposits Sara in her drawer. "I'm gonna get started on the painting. You - you can get lunch," he says firmly. "I'm not doing all the work around here."

Sam gapes and gestures wordlessly at the crib he is building.

Dean glares. " _Magically disappearing dishes_ ," he hisses.

* * *

By the time Sam has tucked Sara up in her new crib for the night it is nearly ten o'clock. Paint fumes from the nursery are wafting their way down the hallways and Sam feels a genuine weariness he hasn't honestly felt since - well since his last hunt, he supposes.

Dean is pouring out whiskey when Sam comes back to him, but instead of sitting and drinking it at the table like they usually do, he ushers Sam back towards their bedrooms; "We don't have a baby monitor. And I'm not sure I'd hear her from out there." Dean pushes the door to his room open and collapses on his bed, back against the headboard. "You can close the door. We'll hear her through the wall."

Sam raises his eyebrows and closes the door behind him. "You seem awfully sure about that."

"Come on, man," Dean mumbles as Sam sinks down next to him, "you haven't heard my nightmares?"

Sam concedes his point and accepts a proffered glass of two fingers of whiskey, neat. He notices Dean brought the bottle along as well. "We getting serious with this?" he asks, taking a sip.

Dean snorts. "With Sara next door? Not a chance."

Sam huffs out a laugh and drinks. Silence fills the air, the easy kind in which he feels completely relaxed and as though there are absolutely no expectations being made of him for a short time. It's nice, just drinking side by side with his brother. It almost takes him back to his teen years when Dean first snuck him a beer and then proceeded to howl himself hoarse when the first few sips made Sam buzzed beyond recognition. He laughs again softly at the thought.

Dean tilts his head towards him inquisitively.

Sam shakes his head. "Just thinking. About when you taught me to drink."

Dean smirks slowly. "Lightweight."

"I was skinny!" Sam protests. "And fifteen!"

Dean rolls his eyes. "Come on. I was drinking at thirteen. Twelve, really. By fifteen I was a pro."

"You never let me have a sip until that day," Sam muses. "Even when I begged."

Dean squints at him. "You were so young. I wasn't sure you were ready. But you could have got booze from anywhere else. I remember you had a few punk friends."

Sam shrugs. "You said no. I only wanted to do it because you did it and I thought you were cool, anyway. Wouldn't have been any fun without you."

Dean smiles, soft and fuzzy and pours himself some more whiskey. "Damn, but you were a good kid when you wanted to be, Sammy." Sam wordlessly holds out his own glass. "Never for dad, though. He thought I spoiled you." He gazes gloomily into his glass. "Thought I messed it up."

Sam leans into him, shoulders pressed together and sighs. He takes a drink. "You raised me better than he could have. You know that's true."

Dean shrugs. "All irrelevant now."

Sam watches his profile. He moves to pick at a fray in his jeans, digging in with his nails. "Dean?" he asks after a long moment.

Dean grunts.

"How are you paying for the house?"

Dean lets out a sigh, long and deep, and tips his head back until it hits the wall. "Don't worry about it, Sam."

Sam frowns and nudges him with his elbow. "Why won't you tell me?"

Dean's lips morph into a semblance of a pout. "Didn't want you to find out. It was stupid. Never worked out."

Sam nudges him again. "What?"

Dean swallows and then turns his head to look at him. "It's not a scam, don't worry. Not going to get me in trouble with the cops." He pauses, thinking, and then continues with an honesty that seems to surprise himself. "Savings. It was just savings, Sam. I saved for years. It was - more than enough to rent a house for six months. I mean - I could never put away a lot at a time, but Bobby helped me set up a bank account. Not in my name, obviously." He looks down at his glass again, swills the liquid gently. "I just - I never really wanted you to give up on your dream, Sammy. Though I know I made that damn hard at times. But I was so proud when you got your letter. And though I don't regret - couldn't regret - taking you away from it all, I always thought you'd get another chance, you know? And when that happened I didn't want anything holding you back."

Sam is shocked, Dean's words cutting sharply through his buzz and filling him with such sudden clarity that he doesn't know what to do with it. He hadn't really known, all these years, how Dean had felt about his college plans. These days the topic of Stanford still remains thoroughly undiscussed, though it is no longer the black hole it used to be of pain and miserable lost memories for both of them. That Dean had done something like this for him boggles the mind. Even if it is no longer something Sam really wants. The ache is no longer there. He has what he needs, what he wants here and now. But Dean's actions speak of love. And care. And it fills Sam with such aching gratitude that he can't speak for long moments. Then, finally, lips dry as sandpaper, he ventures, "You did that? For me?" His voice sounds hoarse, broken to his ears and the sound is enough to make Dean look at him again.

Dean's eyes are wet and solemn with whiskey, with honesty. "It was your dream. I was too selfish to let you go, but I wanted to pretend. That maybe one day I wouldn't be."

Sam smiles at him, tentative and emotional. "I can't believe you did that. You silly bastard."

Dean smiles back, eyes still tearful, and reaches a clumsy hand across to cup Sam's jaw. "I'd do anything for you. Except let you go."

It hits Sam like a jolt, then: knowledge he was too blind to see, too wilfully ignorant to acknowledge, too afraid to contemplate. That Dean loves him. That Dean loves him in every way it is possible to love another person. He loves him as a brother. He loves him as a parent. He loves him as a best friend. As a soul mate. And he loves him the way star-crossed lovers have loved each other for centuries. With passion and pain and overwhelming greed.

For a moment Sam doesn't even know what to do with that information. He feels no disgust, no reticence, not even much surprise. Dean has been his whole world and he Dean's for so long that in a way this seems - inevitable. Not fate. Not the plan of a higher power - simply something that has always been within them. Soul mates. They even share a heaven.

Dean frowns a little, gives Sam's jaw a gentle shake. "Sammy?"

He can't fight this. He doesn't want to fight this. Nothing in his life has felt as right or as good as this moment right here.

"Oh, Dean." Sam's eyes well up faster than any tears have been summoned before. "I love you too."

Dean stares at him. He swallows loudly, parts his lips. "Sam?"

Sam's tears begin to fall the same instant he pushes himself forward to steal a kiss from his brother, hot guarded reminders running down his cheeks and ensuring he doesn't forget even for a moment the solemnity of this moment. Because if this goes wrong there will be nothing left for either of them - because this can never be taken back.

Dean's mouth falls open in a soft gasp. His hand is trembling on Sam's cheek. Sam pushes in firmer; he won't, he can't let Dean pull away. He kisses Dean's loose mouth and licks across his lower lip.

Dean comes alive with a start and presses back so hard and so fast into Sam that it makes him dizzy. His hands are cupped either side of Sam's face, sliding back to reach into his hair and forward again to stroke soft patterns on his wet cheeks. Sam feels a cold damp spread across his thigh, where Dean's dropped glass has spilled, but it is an abstract, unreal sensation, one he can give barely a modicum of attention to, not when Dean is kissing him the way he is.

A loud groan fills the air, from him or Dean, Sam isn't sure. Sam fumbles to put his own glass down somewhere behind him and then he is reaching forward, hands searching over Dean's thighs, his hips, his waist. He worms his fingers under Dean's layers of shirts until he is touching skin. Dean's stomach is hot and firm and it shudders with each touch Sam makes.

"Sammy," Dean says desperately. He pulls back to look Sam in the eye, serious and shaking. He strokes his thumbs across Sam's cheeks, trying to dry up his tears, but Sam can't seem to stop them falling. Never in his life has he felt so overwhelmed by feeling and suffocated by love and passion. And this is so important, the consequences so big that Sam has lost control of himself.

"Shhh," Dean whispers. "I've got you, Sammy." 

Sam buries his face in the crook of Dean's neck and breathes him in as Dean's arms wrap themselves around his shoulders, every inch of his body feeling coveted and ensconced in Dean.

Sam feels as though he is on the edge of a precipice and one step will either send him careening forward or stumbling back.


End file.
